WILD WORDS

I was a young tree once

I thrived and danced; I would watch the sun go down

I was a young tree once

Believing in eternal peace

I was a young tree once

Then the humans came.

I was a young tree once

They cut down my comrades

I was a young tree once

Then they made me ill

I was a young tree once

They stole my youth

I was a young tree once

Then they trapped me in a garden

I was a young tree once

I was going to die

I was a young tree once

Then they tried to make me better

I was a young tree once

My days were numbered

I was a young tree once

Now I tell you my warning

I was a young tree once

Protect nature

I was a young tree once

Heed my call…

Water begins to escape the caliginous sky as the cowering sun retreats into obscurity,

Spitting down spitefully, sorrowfully.

I grieve the departure of the sun while knowing if we ever met, our exchange would not be one of warmth but one of rage and fire; a lover scorned, scorched. A fatal attraction.

Weeping, the leaden sky is weeping. Singular droplets yearning desperately to belong as they discharge from the sky’s dull womb. Firing rapidly, firing without thought, firing without choice,

Fire. Burning, screaming fire engulfing woodland. The history held in an Oak Tree’s rings erased by the crackling fury of the wildfire, an estranged relative to the sun. A disgruntled son, perhaps, unleashing the hurt of an absent mother onto a family of trees raised and fed by his distanced kin. He begs for the attention of the sun while she hides in the clouds, regretful at her need to remain solitary, to remain far.

An ephemeral existence,

Travelling in one short journey from cloud to ground, with a thousand possible relationships waiting to be cultivated by this singular raindrop. To aid the growth of a wild Rambling Rose, to moisten a hopeful Farmer’s soil, allowing it to bear fruit and a livelihood, to maintain the home of a school of Koi.

Droplets are kissing my skin no longer out of spite, but out of hope, I realise.

A resurrection, a return, a rising – like yeast in a loaf of sourdough, a beaming ball of ochre pushes through the tenebrosity of the sky. My skin awakens, smiles, at the return of my forgotten friend,

My spattered shoulders evaporating, removing the singular mark of an entire life,

The life of the raindrop.

A foreign wave of melancholy washes over me at the absence of the trickling sky, knowing that our brief interactions will no longer be wasted on me,

For the sun is my friend, reassuring me with her distant warmth, but the rain is my family,

Dropping into my life, onto my skin,

Choosing me as their eternal companion.

The rain and the sun. Opposing forces, yet a forever–team,

Twin pillars guarding an entire globe.

He’s a spider, shadowed in the corner of my room, a black widow . . . deadly, dangerous, and beautiful, charming but a complete killer.

You scared me just like your brother and sisters did before you, spinning your webs of lies and deceit quietly, not making a sound, and I will tell you what I told them.

You’re a trespasser that does not belong here. You entered without knocking. Roaming freely, like this is your home, and decorated my walls in your unwanted silk webs without asking. You might not be the only killer in the room, but one of us is innocent. And it’s surely not you.

The spider says to me, life cut shorter from a tragic blow: It’s not you either. There is venom infused in my fang–shaped maws, but I was born this way. What’s your excuse? If you could count your murders of my fuzzy friends, how long should you be stood there?

Am I really this threatening? I thought human hearts were bigger than mine, but you have killed with malice and poison bubbling behind your scowl. And I’m sorry for frightening you, but I didn’t know being seen would cost me my life.

Maybe if the webs I weaved were made out of cotton candy and captured clementines, cherries and sweat peas rather than struggling wings and blood; if I had a pink tongue, plush fur, a tail and four legs instead of eight; if I had only two eyes, and they were gleaming stars and not supermassive black holes; maybe if I was the same but looked different, maybe you wouldn’t hate me. Maybe you would’ve shown me a door or a window. Maybe you would’ve shown me mercy. But you’re still standing and I am still sorry. And I think maybe, no matter how reluctant, mercy would have been enough.

Mercy for the spider who only wanted a home.

I could hear the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds,

The bushes and trees were waving from side to side,

aggressively shouting as they moved.

The birds were singing and created a conversation in their own language.

The powerful winds blew the grass with an almighty force,

Plants were growing and leaves were falling on the rock–solid ground,

like a stone skimming along water.

I felt the damp grass brush against my hand,

and it reminded me of a wet, damp, rainy day

when I woke up early while I was camping,

and my shoes got wet due to the moisture in the grass.

Nature can be many things and can be seen in many ways.

As prosperously we stand,

In the darkness, in the light.

Bursting full of good green: oh land,

Gaining energy from the sunlight.

Being stronger than we can truly be…

Ah summer!

Next comes something chilly,

We turn colour from green to orange glee,

We will never be silly.

But yet we fall from the tree,

Ah autumn!

Next comes the cold,

We lie on the ground: trampled.

Soft snow hits us bold.

But we never by it get rattled.

Ah winter!

One season, a cycle of life.

Embrace its beauty before it goes whenever.

As little things of life just lies,

The beauty of it, will last always

As life goes on and on forever.

Clouds are filling up in the sky,

The birds gracefully flying in the sky.

Thunderstorm claps around,

Raindrops gently falling down.

Split, Splat. Drip, Drop.

All the raindrops in the ground,

The wind is blowing low and high.

The rain begins to pour around.

Soon the raindrops drizzle and slow,

And we jump around the puddles below.

The clouds will part to show the sun,

The raindrop will slowly disappear.

15 shades of blue

Fading into one,

Reflecting candy floss clouds

In the rising sun.

Bubbly foam rising,

Tickling the sand playfully,

Til the sand twists and turns in laughter,

Changing the coastline gracefully.

Tourists and locals relaxing,

Bathing, having fun,

Reading, swimming, playing, snorkelling,

While the wonders underneath are too much to take in for one.

Reefs full of life:

Grey whales and Sea turtles,

Thousands of shoals of fish

All zigzagging, avoiding hurdles:

Our human waste,

Millions of tons of plastic

Ending lives in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

Why does life have to be so drastic?

People say:

It’s nothing to do with me!

While others sit and stare

Watching as life tumbles out of balance over a cup of tea.

The radiant bush

Stands proudly amongst

The measly daisies and buttercups

Swaying gently in the wind.

Its flamboyant pink petals

Seduce any onlookers

Its allure is too

Vivid to be ignored.

However, as all must end

One way or the other

Summer has left

In a few fleeting seconds.

The soft, luscious petals

Which were once

Mesmerising and vivid

Are now crinkled and grey.

Soon, they descend

And turn to slimy mush

The sweet smell

Replaced for a pertinent sense of dread.

The branches

Once shrouded with leaves

Are knobbly and naked

Cold and fragile.

The frail branches, fingerlike

Reach out towards me

Begging me, not for light

But for warmth and protection.

As the next summer passes by

I wonder to myself

‘Is the suffering too great to be ignored?’

While the flowers bloom once more.

The sparrow’s tinkling trill rings out clear,

Through the woodlands serene and the sky blear.

It floats to the pond, entrances the deer,

Bewitches them to come near and near.

It rouses the slumbering hares, both younger and older,

Their ears twitch with the tune, as they venture closer,

Their feet pad along, through the nurturing breeze of October,

‘Come’, it calls in its mellow voice, ‘Come over’.

The song interrupted the fiery foxes’ play,

Without a sound, they softly stumble away.

They follow in a dazed state, how could you not obey

The hypnotising lilt of this music, as lively and bright as day?

All the animals go to the sparrow’s perch, one on a grand oak tree,

From its majestic throne, it delightfully serenades me,

Soothes me to sleep, a twitter so heavenly,

And gently, I was lost in nature’s timeless melody.

In our world there are plants.

Trees, weeds, plants,

Used up by our hands.

Greying, dying trees.

That is not nature.

What is nature?

It is something we can’t see.

All our deeds and

Needs, more like wants.

But one day it’ll haunt us all,

What we have done.

Chopping trees, our source of oxygen,

Dumping plastic in our seas.

Real nature is what lies beneath,

All our sins and our deeds.

For we will commit the sin to lead to

Our doom, our downfall, our ending.

Real nature is not what we see.

Real nature is as beautiful as can be.

Real nature is what lies beneath.

What our sins and deeds have seen.

Standing tall against the wind and rain

Its branches and leaves once free

Battered by weather of many a year

There is a tree

The thunder roars and lightning strikes

Though its leaves tremble in fright

The tree cannot move or hide

It will just stand in plain sight

The tree stands rigid, it will not break

Though the storm is fierce and long

For other trees around to see

It stands regimental and strong

The storm may rage and winds may blow

But the tree will not give in nor bends

Its roots firmly gripping the ground

Until the storm ends

The storm has been and gone

But alone on a hill for all to see

Amidst the destruction left behind

Standing alone, there is a tree

The leaves of autumn, a sight to behold,

As I walk my dog, I feel my heart unfold.

The rustling of leaves, the gentle autumn breeze,

The colours of the trees, all put my mind at ease.

The world is so serene, it’s like a dream come true,

The beauty of nature is all around us too.

The calmness of the scene is like a soothing balm.

I feel my worries fade, as I walk with my calm.

The leaves of autumn, a sight to behold.

As I walk my dog, I feel my heart unfold.

Nature, nature

The trees, the animals, the soil,

The birds.

Imagine a world without trees, animals, birds.

It is so difficult to live in that world without trees.

We cannot live.

The green colour of trees

Gives us happiness.

Without birds, no sound –

The sound of birds chirping happily.

Colours swirling through the air,

The shades splashing everywhere,

Green, brown, yellow and red,

Placed upon the flower bed.

Rough bark against my skin,

Leaf veins whisper thin,

Pale blossom breaking free,

Lacey petals atop the tree.

Shining conkers proudly lie,

Beneath the tree, below the sky.

Chirping sparrows nesting near,

Their ringing calls I always hear.

The quiet tapping of tiny feet,

The song of rain, the strong beat,

The drumming wind, the dance of hail,

The melodic rock of a powerful gale.

The blistering heat upon a dark tan,

Cracks spread along the age–old man,

Tendrils and branches creeping across,

Small green pockets of lime–coloured moss.

Travelling through the seasons, through good and bad,

What an amazing life, the wonderful tree has had,

And when it’s time to say goodbye, the tree grows very wise,

And when death grips the tree tight, a new sapling will arise.

In the garden, sights and sounds abound

Nature’s wonders all around

Birds chirping melodies from high above

Their songs echoing with joy and love

Butterflies flutter, their colours are so bright

Dancing through the air, what a mesmerising sight

Bees buzzing busily, collecting nectar that is so sweet

As flowers sway gently in the breeze

Leaves rustling in the calm breeze

Whispering secrets among the trees

Squirrels running, playing their game

As the sun’s rays cast a golden flame

In this garden, a mini world that is so alive

Where nature will come to rest and survive

So take a moment

To cherish the wonders that nature sends

As leaves of crimson and gold fall

A winter storm is coming

Me, alone in the spikes of frozen grass

The last daisy in Autumn

If someone were to pluck me

To admire my delicate, pearly petals

To stroke my sunny, sticky pollen

I would be gone

So now I stand

Proudly on my emerald stalk

My friends all cowering under the crumbling soil

I am alone

Wilting

Wondering

Waiting

Waiting

For Spring

Squirrels scurrying up her tall trees.

Caterpillars munching on her delicious leaves,

Birds soar above her deep seas,

Soothing, buzzing coming from the bees.

Her eyes the colour of deep dark woods,

The silky yellow sand is the colour of her hood,

She would not leave if she could.

A serrated stump

bearing the burden

of sanguinary steel.

Beauty lost to

malicious hands of the axe.

With a mighty swing –

a deafening crack

came the splintered bones

of the ligneous figure

now left to a jagged hump

and withering leaves.

Fauna’s sanctuary forgotten

in a suffering silence

where we simply overlook its corpse

as if its last vestiges no longer stand.

Yet in a ring around the relic

fronds of green rise,

swaying as one

where nature’s whispers once danced

and will someday return.

A glossy, cherry–red apple breaks free from the clutch of its twisting branches,

Now nestled in a bed of cakey soil, crispy leaves and sparse tufts of dew–dropped grass.

Earthworms snake up through the ground, anticipating the sweet feast of the apple’s flesh.

The apple’s old home shivers in the early winter gusts, threatening to cast away more of its residents;

It does get rather lonely on the ground.

Except for the worms of course, writhing unseen and unheard towards the juicy prize.

Visions swirl, of warm apple crumble with custard for the adults, ice cream for the children, perhaps a more pleasant way to go,

Or perhaps impaled with a wooden skewer and dipped in caramel or toffee syrup, whilst jewel–toned fireworks interrupt the stillness of the night,

Even crushed to make cider or tossed into a fruit bowl to be crunched on later would be preferred to the perpetual nibbling of the ravaging worms.

I guess they get hungry too.

No creature can resist the temptation of the fruit,

Her ancestors made the Garden of Eden their home;

Once the catalyst of the greatest Biblical betrayal,

Now left to be diminished by the worms,

And rot.

Decay.

Sprout a new apple blossom sapling.

The axe

Brandished by two taut hands

Well-honed

Ready

before me

A silent scream

Emanated

From that place

Unheard

Yet, he watched it all

Eyes contemplating

The tranquil façade to us

Concealing excruciation

Life dwindling

Like the evening sun

And he watched it all

Once the killer

Had receded

Back to the place

Of inhumane humans

He fed from the light

Shining in those

Solemn times

Fingers grew longer

Dappling the floor

With a patchwork

Of radiant beams

Ready

Closer

To the victim

The result

It punched me

With a clenched fist

Of simple wonder

Held by the network

Of robust branches

Half her body

Floating,

But in a firm grasp

When above

A congregation of leaves

Flourished

Together

Inosculation

Any pain

Trawled behind

Ensnared in

The forgotten

I closed my eyes

Lingering souls

Forbidden from sight

Yet his voice

Carried by the breeze

There

Saying

A single tear

A gentle breath

In and out

Every moment

Elapsed in complete

Synchronicity

I was meant to see them

Standing together

I knew

I knew.

‘Everything will be okay.’