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Mother Willow
January 6, 2009
Old Limbs
Reaching up to the sky
Scratch at the stars with gnarled black nails
Twisted fingers tearing at the heavens
Her stooped and distorted back
bends low
Her belly facing to the ground
like a child,scorned and beaten.
Ragged and Rough
There is no kindness
No passion
Among those warped tendrils
All green of youth is gone
left in the whirling ages of time
Only a convoluted skeleton,
Remains in the night.
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This article has 4 comments.
NonsensicalMuse PLATINUM said...
on Mar. 18 2010 at 11:48 am
I love it-at my old house we had a grandmother willow in our back yard-she was wonderful-your poem reminds me of her-
Backflow Bob said...
on Jan. 20 2009 at 2:44 pm
You really paint a great picture with words! A picture that is alive with feeling and a hint of "history," even. Your poem leaves me wanting to hear more about the life that Mother Willow has had. Keep writing!
Ray Hemora said...
on Jan. 17 2009 at 7:49 pm
Sounds a little emo, but once you get past the depressing words it's beautiful!!!
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