Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

The shape of the trees

 

In our own secret place,

Night falls, hardly noticed;

The dark is all around,

Buried deep, unbroken.

Somehow the cryptic moon,

Pale from its exertions,

Avoids our sideways glance.

Our eyes fall on the trees,

Upon their shape, their form.

Nothing special of note,

Until we realise that,

Beyond, there is no sky,

No space for stars or dreams.

So now it has happened:

What we longed for and feared.

The world has retreated;

Our frontiers have narrowed

To the shape of the trees.

◄ Our distant friend (Remembering Nobby Stiles)

I know ►

Comments

Profile image

Stephen Gospage

Fri 6th Nov 2020 17:20

Thankyou to everyone for your comments and likes. It is so encouraging to know that other poets appreciate one's work. The interesting thing about this offering is that the title, which I thought up when looking at the trees silhouetted in the (not quite) night sky, inspired the poem. Sometimes it is the other way round.

Philipos

Thu 5th Nov 2020 21:55


Really good - well done.

Most enjoyable read. P ?

Profile image

Stephen Atkinson

Thu 5th Nov 2020 20:24

The shape of mesmerising poetry.

Profile image

Shifa Maqba

Thu 5th Nov 2020 18:40

So evocative and vibrant!

<Deleted User> (9882)

Thu 5th Nov 2020 18:23

You word-paint a wonderful picture, Stephen.








Rose ?

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message