The Tree

Amongst a mighty forest of hunter green
A middle aged oak tree grows tall
Dreaming of the days she’ll be understood
Surrounded by the judging older trees
And think they know it all youngsters
She is cheerful, sad but happy too
Yet not knowing fully why

The ragged saplings of youth
Are almost trapped in their plastic guards
Dressed in all the colours of the rainbow
Where as the elders look down
Knowing things were different in their day
Simpler with less meddling by humans
Why can nature not be left to be itself

Alone with the youthful optimism
Alone among the judging elders
Her mind meanders and twists her branches
Pondering silently in the shadows of time
As the wind tickles all leaves to dance
She stretches out as listens to the birds
Wishing she could be as free as they are

© Fi S. J. Brown

A Surprise

Hey you, please stop for just five minutes of your time is all I need,
Gently sit yourself down on that chair of brown and olive green tweed.
Slowly closing your eyes on ten for your little journey is about to begin,
See that red door open it wide and step inside to explore therein.
What can you see, hear, feel, smell and touch but where are you?
Let every sense guide on this journey to a place you many once knew.

The green of the chair has dissolved into a forest where its life began,
A place to escape a world of grey to plastic women and lying madman.
To the left is an old oak tree with branches stretched in every direction,
He is the grandfather of this world and in charge of its protection.
In a hole around the centre sits an owl of white purer than any snow,
Singing songs and telling tales far older than any human would know.

Below your feet do not kick or pick the crowd of toadstools gathered,
They are gossips and liars so always leave their questions unanswered.
Wait what is that sound like fingers down the blackboard at school?
Oh it is a grey squirrel running down the oak’s bark acting the fool!
Follow in and out the trees until you can no longer see or hear him,
As a gentle breeze catches up with you and starts tickling every limb.

Walking on into the forest a clearing stands where a two rivers meet.
Take off your socks and shoes to let their waters calm your tired feet.
The sun starts to set with a sound like a church bell tolling for mass,
Day is now almost over and before nightfall you must whistle with grass.
It brings up the red door once more to return home away from here,
Close the door as you enter and open your eyes but never forget there.

© Fi S. J. Brown

 

Written for World Poetry Day and International Day of Forests.

A forest tale

Stop, look around but listen close.
Don’t let a single word slip your lips.
Let all your other senses guide you,
On a journey that has no boundaries.

To your left stands an old oak tree, 
He is grandfather of this woodland.
In his branches an owl sings a song,
Older than the folk tales humans tell.

Below stand a crowd of toadstools,
The silent soldiers of the forest guard.
Out of the leaves a squirrel comes,
Looking for nuts like a pirate for gold.

The sun beams in your eyes to look,
And follow the shadows all around.
A gentle breeze touches your face,
This is mother nature’s blessings.

Now turn to leave but remember,
You will always be welcome here.
There are no defined opening hours,
And priceless is their wealth to Earth.

© Fi S. J. Brown

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