Over the course of the past 51-plus years, I’ve done a lot of writing. Much of it has come in the course of my 30 years in journalism. I’ve also authored a book, transcribed whatever I could recall from my dreams for a period of about 3 years or so, and written poetry and song lyrics with varying degrees of competence.
About a year ago, I sat alone in a wooded area and cleared my mind from all of life’s little annoyances. I soaked in a cool breeze on the sunny afternoon and found myself mesmerized by a tree standing before me.
As I looked at the tree, really looked at it, and thought about how what function each part of the tree had, and how each part reacted to its surroundings, I started thinking about the different aspects of my personality and being, and what functions those performed. I also considered how I react to my surroundings, or perhaps I should react.
Those thoughts got pushed to the back of my mind until a recent trip to a local writers club meeting, where one of the writers read a poem she wrote where a tree was a central theme. It reminded me of the spring day nearly a year previous when I had the aforementioned epiphany. I was motivated to try to describe the event in a poem.
Below is the result of that effort. I am pleased to say that a friend of mine has planned on using the poem in her homeschooling curriculum. What an honor!
One Tree and Me
Me, I sit, a cool breeze it spits
Winsome on my face
Wisdom in my soul
My gaze, it stares, intense, in glare
At the rebirth of my earth
A time of joy, a time of mirth
Like a camera on a tripod
My head, it turns, it nods
Eyes, ears, nose and mouth are trained
But other senses not easily explained
Awake
One tree, and me, so ordinary
So plain, so same
But for one moment not
Now
And forever
Invisible roots dig deep
They creep and they seek
Necessary nourishment
To provide life, liberty
And the pursuit of soul spirit to the perimeter
Green ground ‘round a plucky trunk
Weather worn and hen-pecked
Slightly knotty, not overripe or rotted
It oozes spunk, no stupid junk
It is what it stands for
Fractal branches random radiate
Biceps, triceps, elbows grate
Forearms quiver, shiver, shake
When air affronts, grunts and quakes
Sway and swing with the rhyme of the season
Holding up hands of twigs and leaves
Reaching for light with heavenly heaves
Spirited
Agile
Free
Vulnerable like little children
Smug in their ignorance
A benign breeze, agitated
Provides contrary evidence
And gusts with such lust
That leaves from stems
Stems from twigs
Twigs from branches
Have their bodies plundered
On damp lightning nights
Rumbling with thunder
And the fragile fragments
Of my maturing mind
Unaware the crime of destined time
Like a tot’s tiny vice grip on mama’s hand
Have no choice but to let loose
Either to decompose and die
Or to spread their wings and fly
We are strong
We are sturdy
We are broken and bent
Knobby and gnarled
Bound by our foundations
Yet more free than we can see
It takes much to cut us down
To kill us from the outside
It takes little to slowly ruin us from within
Self-doubt, pout and fear
The tiny termites who live near
Protect within
One tree
And me
Akin
By Paul J. Hoffman
3/21/2015
Paul J. Hoffman 
Leave a Reply