Photo by Brett Trafford
_____________________
I stand alone atop this hill.
I’ve given millions of leaves to the earth over seventy-five years,
But not remain. They’ve all blown away.
I’ve shed tens of thousands of seeds, year after year,
But none have escaped the grazing animals.
I’ve seen thousands of sunrises,
But I never grow tired of them.
What am I? Alone and lonely?
No.
I am a host.
Under my spreading branches
Children have played.
Under my spreading branches
Picnics have been made.
Under my spreading branches
Young have been born.
Under my spreading branches
Old have lain down for the last time.
I am a host,
To man and beast.
I am a host,
To bird and bug.
I am a sight for sore eyes.
I am a reminder of pleasant days.
Beneath my boughs,
Life happens.
Over and over again.
I am a host.
~ Don
One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.
12 comments:
Under the spreading branches
I lay my blanket down
I nibble on my grapes from my picnic basket
I grab my book and lay down underneath the spreading branches
I am awoken by the gentle breeze and sway of the branches
What a glorious sight to look up and see God's beauty
Under the spreading branches they crouched to hide from the storm. The lightening would surly strike the huge tree. But don't touch the trunk, Basil had warned her, the current will go through you, too. Rocking on her heels in the mud, Lucina counted the seconds between thunder and lightening. The storm was crawling closer.
The light and sound ripped through the sky at once, startling Basil, tipping him foreward. He put a hand on the trunk to steady himself as an electric talon reached down to the spreading branches...
Groggily Lucina rolled over on the wet grass. The sun was sparkling through the leaves. She was stiff and cold but for the most part dry, wrapped in Basil's coat. Basil...Lucina sat up and looked round. He was leaning against the tree trunk, uncomfortable and tired, but very much alive. He would never leave her.
He walked her home though, and they met again that afternoon, clean, dry and well rested. She had even washed his coat. He went to spread it on the newly dried ground but she stopped him, and pulled a blanket from her bag, laying it under the spreading branches.
I stand alone atop this hill.
I’ve given millions of leaves to the earth over seventy-five years,
But not remain. They’ve all blown away.
I’ve shed tens of thousands of seeds, year after year,
But none have escaped the grazing animals.
I’ve seen thousands of sunrises,
But I never grow tired of them.
What am I? Alone and lonely?
No.
I am a host.
Under my spreading branches
Children have played.
Under my spreading branches
Picnics have been made.
Under my spreading branches
Young have been born.
Under my spreading branches
Old have lain down for the last time.
I am a host,
To man and beast.
I am a host,
To bird and bug.
I am a sight for sore eyes.
I am a reminder of pleasant days.
Beneath my boughs,
Life happens.
Over and over again.
I am a host.
Under the spreading branches
The young boy lunched with his father
And dreamed of one day being a hard-working farmer.
Under the spreading branches
The teenage boy courted the girl next door
And asked her to be his wife.
Under the spreading branches
The young man rested from the long harvest days
And ate the lunch prepared by his loving bride.
Under the spreading branches
The young father played with his sons
And taught them everything his father had taught him.
Under the spreading branches
The proud father walked his daughter to her groom
And remembered his own wedding here.
Under the spreading branches
The old farmer watched his grandchildren play
And told them stories of his youth.
Under the spreading branches
The old man sat with his family and looked back on his life
Lived under the spreading branches.
I followed Don over here and WOW!!!
What an awesome blog. I'm certainly no poet and could never speak as eloquently as you all do but you can be sure that I will be back :)
Take good care and......
Steady On
Reggie Girl
MMM&RS, aka Reggie Girl: Don't worry, it's not all about poetry. Write whatever you moves you. I'm more of a fiction writer, but it's amazing what you can write when that timer is ticking! Welcome, and see you around!
Faith
Under the spreading branches
Can you see an ant roaming around?
No, you can't, it is so small to capture.
Same way we are so small for this big universe, many don't know our existence.
So think big, but don't think yourself big.
Reggie Girl...
Welcome...jump in and give it a try...it's not about being critical of the writing...it's about using the prompts to explore. I usually write prose but every so often I try a poem (I can't write poetry) but everyone is tolerant here...it is all about giving it a try.
Dan
I was SO hoping that Don would win this honorable mention :o). I loved what he wrote here...couldn't add a thing from myself because I thought he did such a wonderful job.
Hi Don,
Stunning and amazing. I think this the poem of yours I like the best.
It is one to which I will return.
So powerful in its simplicity.
Thanks for sharing,
Sacha
Post a Comment