Day 7 took me a bit out of my comfort zone, as I don’t typically get into the early American romantic-type poetry, but I took a shot at it. We were told to take a walk until we found a tree to “identify with,” and then write a poem using the tree as a metaphor for ourselves or our life. This one I wasn’t really happy at all with, but ita est vita, right?My bark is gnarled, brittle and scarred.
My years, though few, have left me marred.
My branches are twisted, and often bare,
Most of those passing say there isn’t much there.
But if they’d look closely, they’d see an old nest,
Left by an old friend, still offering rest.
I lack those leaves mandatory for shade,
And the few that do come seem always delayed.
The other trees rest across the pathway,
Nearly close enough to feel, yet too far away.
Some days I must believe the words of passers-by,
That never again wings from my nest will fly.
I’ll only just be planted here alone,
Barren, plain, looked over like a stone.
But then the sun peaks out again,
My little buds bloom, cover over my shame.
They may not last long, but they bring great pleasure,
Display my beauty to the fullest measure.
I guess from this what I have taken most
Is I may not be pretty, but I can be a good host.
I’ve become strong living through the fiercest storms,
Firm roots make up for my lack of social reforms.
I don’t have much to offer after the storm’s abuse,
But I give all I have, it must be of some use.
I hold tightly my nest to make room for another,
Give you my blossoms to cheer your bad weather.
I don’t ask for much, very little indeed,
All I really want is to be loved when in need.
A couple kind words, a thanks for my sacrifice,
And above all, my nest being filled would be nice.
I’ve heard of laughter filling the trees,
All I want is laughter in my leaves.
I hate sounding like a broken record, but if you leave me some helpful feedback you’ll be my new best friend!