Tree Life
 

Maple leaves on sidewalk stone, this reed is a force
moving mortar; these Autumn red crowns seethe on the floor.
Some turn, showing a pale gold regal decor
as joy leaves the tree which barely even breathes anymore...
a couple sit on the park bench - he's seen it before
He's seen suppressed rage morph into a vehement roar.

Life slithered and crawled and tittered and teemed on his skin
middle aged at ninety-four years...he needed a friend.
They say orange and yellow used to be his seasonal trend
'til the Summer he met Sam. When the bleeding began.
He knew before that certain humans sensed the beat of his ken
...samaras spiraled close to show he'd like to meet them again
it was a decades long game...
one he needed to win.
He was green. That summer breeze carried spiritual zest
When Sam and Mary came gaping at his miracle crest
veiny, fingery apex. Vibe bitter and stressed.
"Hey there tree," Sam said. The mirrors reflect.
A drawn pocketknife. Hearted initials seared on his flesh.
they loved watching birds fly - he had a peer to connect.
Sam lived a hop South and just a veer to the left.
Started coming alone and brought a trace of fear with his breath.
Which disappeared when they communed. Two sentient beings.
with heightened awareness, calm and a penchant for dreams
Sam sat on his trunk for hours, talked and rested his knees
the corrugated bark soothed Sam and left him at ease.
One night Sam came to him wheezing, his hand carried his chest
followed by a group of twenty-odd various men.
their cone tipped robes exuded some nefarious zen
one of them paused...stepping forward to herald his death
"..nigger you're never gonna be seeing my Mary again"
and just as he was hung, and tears dripped from his face
Sam's final clarion call: the helpless script of his rage.

Maple leaves on sidewalk stone, this reed is a force
moving mortar; these Autumn red crowns seethe on the floor.
Some turn, showing a pale gold regal decor
as joy leaves the tree which barely even breathes anymore...
a couple sit on the park bench - he's seen it before
He's seen suppressed rage morph into a vehement roar.

this reminded me of An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, if you ever read that story. felt like the opening characterization in the first third-ish of the verse was excellent, but it didn't pay off how it could have cuz the actual story being told was so expository. It felt rushed. It's tough because people don't usually read longer verses, but this begged to be longer, just for the story to breathe. Writing was good, though these types of pieces can be tricky because words like "nefarious" bely the time of its setting. Good shit, I always enjoy your work.

wat if the giving tree was weed and dr seuss was like yolo 420 blaze it faggot think about it

lmfaooo @ vivid

oats wats owl creek bridge and yo i'm anachronistic af w that word usage b. Yeah I think I rushed it a bit and felt i coulda fleshed it out too...

WTF is this giving tree shit every1 thinks i copied

i really liked this, at first I was dreading reading it a bit because it was a longer piece but im glad I did. i agree with oats, once it started rolling it could have been longer.

stand outs to me

"Hey there tree," Sam said. The mirrors reflect.
A drawn pocketknife. Hearted initials seared on his flesh.
they loved watching birds fly - he had a peer to connect.
Sam lived a hop South and just a veer to the left.

One night Sam came to him wheezing, his hand carried his chest
followed by a group of twenty-odd various men.
their cone tipped robes exuded some nefarious zen
one of them paused...stepping forward to herald his death


stay up man, looking forward to reading your verse this week
if you get a chance can you peep my piece that got no showed, appreciate it. peace

Pretty good.

@NYCSPITZ it's a short story from the late 1800s. Check it out.

http://fiction.eserver.org/short/occ...owl_creek.html

Poor Sam!

I liked this a lot man. Nice flow to it. Poetic tone. Smooth trannies. Uhh
Umm, it was a good one! pce.

interesting story.
not really my cup of tea.
I guess I would have to hear this in audio


He was green. That summer breeze carried spiritual zest
When Sam and Mary came gaping at his miracle crest
veiny, fingery apex. Vibe bitter and stressed.
"Hey there tree," Sam said. The mirrors reflect.
A drawn pocketknife. Hearted initials seared on his flesh.
they loved watching birds fly - he had a peer to connect.
Sam lived a hop South and just a veer to the left.
Started coming alone and brought a trace of fear with his breath.
Which disappeared when they communed. Two sentient beings.
with heightened awareness, calm and a penchant for dreams


pretty bad ass bars right here tho.

the mechanics were very good.

If you added a bit of bukowski it'd be really neat, add some zest.