Poet-treeman• Show poetry

As my pen name suggests, I am a tree surgeon. Being out-doors all day in the woods, up in trees I see the world from a different perspective. I'm forced to see the immediacy of things-of life in particular since it is literally hanging on a line every day. Poetry is something that came to me out of nowhere. So I consider it a gift from the Spirit since my education consists of 6 years of elementary school. I see myself as a drop in a vast ocean of humanity, however no better of worse than any. Since I'm ultimately aware of my end, I would like to leave a few words of encouragement to others. After all, I've taken, therefore I must return. Having said that, allow me to say that I have no pretense to any formal knowledge of poetry - Its structures, forms or meters. I am in awe and humbled at the work that I see on this site.
Hence my poetry is dedicated to the spirit in you that is always seeking after itself. I draw from that great vastness that's in you, and am refreshed. May it rise up anew each day.

A sample from a few of my favorite authors:


            "And when you drink from
             The river of silence
             Shall you indeed sing."
                Khalil Gibran

            " O joy that in our embers
              Is something that doth live,
              That nature yet remembers
              What was so fugitive."
                  William Wordsworth

            " Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring
              Your Winter cup of repentance fling
              The bird of time has but a little way
              To flutter-and the bird is on the wing."
                   Omar Khayyam

            " I shall be telling this with a sigh
              Somewhere ages and ages hence:
              Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
              I took the one less travelled by,
                   Robert Frost

            " I can give not what men call love:
                 But wilt thou accept not
              The worship the heart lifts above
                 And the heavens reject not
              The desire of the moth for the star
                 Of the night for the morrow,
              The devotion for something afar
                 From the sphere of our sorrow?"
                    Percy Bysshe Shelly