Tag: TREES

POETRY Reading: MY TREE TRUNK, by CLS Sandoval

Read Poem:

When the boy sits on the tree’s stump at the end of the Giving Tree, I used to think it was sad
because they had both lived their lives and been used up. Then, I grew into a woman and
became a mother. I have despised my trunk, abused my trunk, expected it to stay 16 or 20. But,
just as the trunk of real trees grow stronger and more sturdy as they add rings, so I expanded with
age, strength, and wisdom. I have become a waif no more. I am willing to give my daughter
anything she needs; my apples, my leaves, my branches, even my trunk. But now, as I read Shel
Silverstein’s story to her, and watch the boy haul off what is left of the tree’s body, I pray my
daughter would never demand that I be reduced to a stump, just so that she might sail away.

Read Poetry: TREES, by Anwar Jaber

1- The Silent Tree

These birds love the silent tree and like to perch on that bough. You know; the love is unexplained thing but we know it very well. From that lovely bough, the leaves and feathers had fallen with a quarrelsome smile. This was a heavy thing for that tired tree which is filled with sad stories. She always descends to clean the ground from the frivolous feathers. Her slim fingers drown butterflies and her broken heart chants absent songs. I saw her kissing water like my voice which I had forgotten at my postponed beginning.

 

2- Missing trees

I am a wild man knows the animals’ sounds but not pure like them. The bears are neither rough nor brown and the owl is sliver and sees the truth. At that glory, I was smiling in the morning and for many times I was sitting at a lake I didn’t remember its name. Now I am rootless; my small hut had lost its threads and my mantle had colored with forgetfulness. This sharp city had slapped my cheeks mercilessly and immersed oblivion in my memory. I have been crying bitterly since that time where I had saw her. I am crying for my precious trees. I had forgotten my color and my voice. Now I am very sad and colorless and never remember the smiles of my missing trees. 

 

 

3- A Yellow Tree

I am a yellow tree with cold whispers. As a thirsty spike, I am waiting crippled dreams. My streets had been stolen and my brooks know nothing but pallor. In April, the children fly lovely kites while my birds disappear in the mud with motionless souls. Oh my days, here is a wound, please listen to it.

 

 

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Anwar Gheni Jaber (previously Anwer Ghani) is an Iraqi poet and artist. He was born in 1973 in Babylon. His name has appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies (as Anwer Ghani) and he have won many prizes; one of them is the “World Laureate-Best Poet in 2017 from WNWU”. Narrative lyricism and digital expressionism are his peculiar styles. Anwar is the author of “Narratopoet”; (2017), “Antipoetic Poems”; (2017) and other 50 books.  

His websites:  https://anwarjaber.wordpress.com