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Drifting

Missing image




Severed from the earth
it once called home,


this barren branch
haunts the lingering landscape
of dreams.

Tossed by tempests' raging
and torn by whispers of the tide,
it struggled to reach the shore

where silence is shallow


and chaotic currents continue
to brutally batter its bark
into crumbling memories
of green.

Unlike the shells that echo oceans,
it has no voice
to sing

of its longing for the soil.

 

 

 

 

Author notes




Photography by Michael Kahn



Picture courtesy of Nicolette



"Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree."
by Rabindranath Tagore, from "Fireflies"










In a list

A contest entry

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Comments

1 - 11 of 11

  • Piscean soul
    July 16, 2007
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    Amazin


  • Dalaney gold member
    July 4, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    Silver looks beautiful on you...
    Congrats on such a wonderful poem.
    Love, Lane


  • Nicolette gold member
    July 4, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    What a beautiful and well-written poem. It is as if the piece of driftwood is singing these words all by itself. Those last few lines are hauntingly beautiful in its sadness and "longing for the soil". I love this poem - definately a contender in my eyes!

    Thank you so much for posting it in my contest.

    ~ Nicolette


  • deercatcher
    July 3, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    Emancipation from the soil is not liberation for the tree...

    Saw that somewhere. This reminds me of an idea I had today- that trees form communities. Joined by the weather and site conditions, a single specie will graft roots and become a larger entity. This solved a phenomena that had puzzled me for years. when a broken tree in a stand is cut, the stump, over time, will close over like the wound left when a limb is cut off. The roots are adopted and fed by the nearby trees...


  • arafura gold member
    July 3, 2007
    Edit | Reply

    crumbling memories...

    Excellent as usual poet! You have captured and portrayed the theme perfectly.

    Arafura


  • Jonathan ROBIN
    July 3, 2007

    Edit | Reply

    Promise...sing

    As some surf sculptured flotsam flung
    back to the stormy sea,
    as jetsam leaf of life’s tree hung
    once on fate’s hinge, torn free.

    As date, as anniversary,
    from calendar expunged,
    as sailor smit by siren’s see
    in swirling ocean plunged.

    Yet tides may turn, storms ride to peace
    when filter fresh Fates find,
    new Spring brings leaf on life through lease
    to leave past grief behind.


  • Lyrical Soul silver member
    July 3, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    Feels like a long way from home when I read your words. Lovely work dear poet. Simply lovely!

    ~Lyrical

  • johnh94
    July 3, 2007

    Edit | Reply

    wonderful imagery!

    Sad and haunting, though I think a visual voice can scream just as loud as an ocean's echo, and besides, who can say he/it isn't happier now without all the responsibilities of growing, producing, living? Much love, and great stuff! John


  • kaibab silver member
    July 3, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    Still the wind blows across and stings in instrument
    voice to grain in sandy chorus...until everysight of eye is music in emancipation...wonderful write scribe to take her medicine and get better


  • Oisin silver member
    July 3, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    "and chaotic currents continue
    to brutally batter its bark
    into crumbling memories
    of green."

    Maybe it is the branch that rides the waters, forcing the water to be its slave.

    Very unique.


  • tomisb
    July 3, 2007

    Edit | Reply
    I can hear the anguish. I can feel the pain. This simple act of being cast ashore on the sandy beach, just beyond reach, brings forward the dreams for once was. Love, Tom B.

1 - 11 of 11