To me

In contemplative mind

There is nothing more beautiful

Than a naked tree.


Stripped to bare grace

Twisted and gnarled

Broken and bent

Dark scribbles on the sky



Fighting upward - outward

The merest twig pulsing 

For light -

And the Universe.



Clutching with hungry roots

And thirsty throats

The thick muck

Of Earth.


Trees talk. They talk.


They know strange things.

No flight of human fancy

Comes near to equating a tree

Call it what you will.


I think

I am much like a tree.

And I'm not scared.








Cynthia Buell Thomas

March, 2018


◄ Poets and Poetry

The Dive ►


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terry l shuff

Mon 30th Apr 2018 23:53

Cynthia, I certainly appreciate your love of Trees. Your description is delightful, and I can hear Trees also. Many Trees are Hundreds and even Thousands of years old. They are living records of history. Terry.

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patrick D Ortiz

Thu 15th Mar 2018 15:24

from the first few lines I was hoping this piece was about you-you are a beautiful woman of words indeed, and naked with you in heart and mind would be a gentle and loving grace come true...

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Graham Sherwood

Thu 15th Mar 2018 12:28

Ah! yes CBT, you've committed the cardinal WOL sin. Now no-one will bother to read your previous effort Poets in Poetry! Naughty girl 😇.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Thu 15th Mar 2018 11:13

OK, I'll not do this again. Two days in a row - not my style at all. I'm not sure what's the matter with me today. Hope I'm not dead tomorrow. But I just have to post it.

Maybe it's the death of Steve Hawking. That could be it.

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