Miscellaneous:

[now&zen]

The sky is exactly blue;
never was there a less perfect day
to return your roots to earth.

A tree was born to die for her,
and I count the rings on the coffin lid
with
my
head
bowed.

I am uneasy in black and
sulky cranberry
unbefitting spring.

Sixty-seven rings to her forty-six years.
Plump flesh on cherry limbs hangs heavy with grief
as Mother Earth swallows Her child whole,

and the gaping mouth becomes clogged with the
soil which has sprung the lilacs, and the lilies.

We stand exposed as weathered rocks, and
when I lift my head
I hear nothing but our bleating hearts,
and flowers growing next to the grave.

[MsJacquiiC]

This poem is special! It's both a spooky rendition of "til death do we part" AND "earth to ashes, ashes to dust"

Actually reminds me of the originally sang Billy Holiday tune "Strange Fruit" --- Ashes ashes we all fall down! Though some of us are unfortunately and UNJUSTLY linched. Perhaps your poem speaks of the ultimate retribution: equality.

When the sum of our own beings on this most horrid earth, which the roots of innocent trees so very much cling to, IS counted, sorted, categorized and put into the sack of DAMNED! or JUSTIFIED!

Interesting write MJ - This is a multi-layered poem - I do wonder what your inspiration is for having written it. Mostly I say write on = Thanx for the sharing and hope you show a bit of love for other Members' writing as well.

Jacquii.

ps - don't know if you're a fan of classical music - but this poem so much epitomizes the tune I posted a while back called A Small Measure of Peace = you should hear the piece and read simultaneously your writing - quite spectacular really...