poetry critical

online poetry workshop

the secret life of trees

i wanted new trees outside my window,
for the ones i had now were old, decrepit,
backs arching, aching-
wanting their last fall -
to leave the earth in a crescendo of brilliant colors,
die in the winter when it was cold, icy,
not feel the pain - roots detach painlessly from the ground - souls free.
it was clear, from their bark, they were very wise (very),
like old wise men's wrinkles - you could sense it,
sitting so high, silent, whispering only to the wind,
putting on their annual show, in beautiful synchronization -
with no rehearsal.
so humble they stood as i told this to them,
swaying when they took a minute to think,
so i felt bad, and told them they could stay
as long as they wanted,
as long as they continued to stay quiet,
and stay open for birds who stay there, late at night.

28 Feb 07

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talk about poetic! this is grand! near perfect. near always poems about trees are bad and overdone, but this one isn't. Good work indeed. 9/10
 — Henry

henry is a mind manipulator. this poem is overdone. brevity would help.
 — unknown

my question is why would you want new trees when you have such 'wise old epic' trees that seem to lend such internal wisdom and sense of grandeur?
 — Mongrol

Mongrol, the point is that by the end of the poem i realize that i want them.
 — topop