“I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.”
– Joyce Kilmer
What more could you or I
(or anyone) ever hope to add, do you think,
to the amazing, miraculous, natural grandeur that
inhabits, resides, abides in any (every) solitary tree? I
know (with certainty) my paltry poetic vocabulary shall
ever fail to conjure an inkling of such unequaled, never
to be replicated perfection. One need only listen, breathe and see
in order to embrace the mystery, music, magic and majesty of a
single towering redwood or oak. Close your eyes and know the poem
has already been written in wood across the sky – those lovely
noble limbs in silver snow, autumn glory, or graceful green – as
holy as any sacred sanctuary, welcoming as home, gracious as a
friend. Couldn’t we (shouldn’t we?) all aspire to be a tree?
This poem was written in response to a prompt from De Jackson over at dVerse Poets Pub. The assignment is a new (to me) poetic form called ‘the golden shovel’.
(It was a lot tougher than it looks. I dare you to try it!)
Hop over to the site to find out more about the form and to read more 'golden shovel' poetry:
dversepoets.com - The golden shovel form
From there, you can jump over to other poets sites to read their ‘golden shovel’ poems.
NOTE: I chose the first 2 lines from Joyce Kilmer’s poem “Trees”
You can read Kilmer's entire poem here: poets.org - Joyce Kilmer - Trees