Benet Oak

One of my first forays into poety. It is actually an assignment for class that I rewrote to something more to my liking.

This oak is poised to cover the sun, but

Strangled by the heft of Spanish moss

With fungal invaders accentuating its

now unnatural chasis

It bows to the conquest of seasons.

 

The inexorable guarded by amputation.

Its brown stump in opposition to gray husk,

As if being less is somehow better

than not being.

A vain attempt to prolong life.

 

Still luster is lost coercively.

Roots anemic and crown meager,

Too few leaves to energize its being

                spasmodic replaces cover.

Brilliance passes through unhindered.

 

The oak’s shadow a shade of former glory.

It escapes behind others of its kind,

Stark decay hidden by verdant saturation.

Identity eaten as wood by termites,

A gradual blighting of what was

 

As recompense for primes yet to be.

The sharp edge of temporal movement,

An imperial march of an unfaltering beat,

                Unerring and callous.

Time rides with its horsemen.

Reviews

[Angi]

I relate to this piece. There are four generations of women in my family. My gramma, my mom, me and my daughter. We had a photo taken of the four of us. It is so strange to see the same vibrant eyes framed by ever crepe-papering skin. This is what your poem brought to mind. I see the tree as it stood in youth, strong with the weight of the moss, gradually aging , losing limbs and leaves, no longer able to fight off parasites and decay. Just like people. This was full of imagery and description. The last line is just right, here. My mind's eye saw them charging through the forest. Very nicely done. Angi~