Sunday, January 11, 2015

This Winter Wood

C.Parant, Appetite for Photos Used with Permission

This tree was young once long ago…
smooth of bark and lithe of limb;
but trunk has broadened over time,
and outer skin’s defined by lines
that countless seasons have bestowed.

                  I wonder then, upon what whim
                  would someone choose to seek its form;
                  no longer green—youth’s bloom dispersed—
                  what would prompt to steal a glimpse
                  of thing so weathered and well worn?

Perchance the seeker’s misinformed:
 for often tree is just a tree.
As summer into autumn flows
the heavy frost belies the snow
and time moves on without reprieve.

                  Perhaps you’re searching for the source…
                  the roots from where the words are formed.
                  Like sap in spring, sometimes they flow;
                  more often though, the drip is slow
                  till bucket fills and poem is born.

You’ve asked to meet on middle ground,
this fledgling friendship to endorse
our known conceptions reinforce…
Yet there are others more profound
than aged timber unrenowned.

                  So I have left this bid ignored—
                  floating stagnant days on weeks…
                  and ever further from its youth
                  the timber shies, afraid in truth
                  that it is not this tree you seek.

Shall we let meeting run its course
and through rapport some kinship form?
  There’s no reward for those who stall…
Like wilted leaves on damp gray morn,
we bend toward light to be transformed.
© Ginny Brannan 2015


  1. Ginny, this is beautiful. I especially love your ending.

  2. wow would want an old there no use left of it but for kindling?
    is there no life left in it? i wonder if that is more a function of the age...or of the tree....

    1. Brian, Sometimes "tree" is "just a tree" and sometimes it may be metaphor, symbolic of something or someone else.

  3. Ginny, that is some powerful metaphor. These lines really spoke to me,
    "Like wilted leaves on damp gray morn,
    we bend toward light to be transformed."

  4. …this has the tone of the old poets - so wise and your gift with meter and rhyme always amazes me. You are so talented.


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Thank you for reading my poetry and sharing your thoughts.