we could be trees

Friends, I have found a stack of random papers, photos, and letters from many years ago, including some very old poems. I am having a laugh over here, because they are terrible and also because I appear to not have evolved at all since I was nineteen. For example, here is a poem I must have written for a college class. (What the heck is a ghazal?) Its theme is laughingly consistent with what I write about now, ha! I am not editing this thing at all, here it is in all its original glory.


We could be trees, leaning
with the wind, slowly breezing

in summer sun; in autumn
leaves fading, changing, conceiving

burnt colors--yellows, oranges,
browns, reds--finally screaming

to the ground; in winter,
branches bare, a snowing gleaming

clinging, cold and icy everywhere;
and in springtime, birds preening,

singing on a limb--flower songs,
rain songs--and light rain streaming,

in little rivers, down bark crevices.
We could be trees. I am dreaming

of one who studies trees, marrying
earth and sky in seasonal meaning.


  1. Aw, this is cute!

    What? Why are you laughing so hard?

    Come on, I'm being serious!

    Stop laughing!

  2. wait until you read my epic sestina on the topic of fucking.
    apparently i have been patently predictable my whole fucking life.

  3. Fucking-A? Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck?

    (I can't wait to read that one! Woo-hoo!) ;)

  4. reading old poems can be like looking through photo albums, painful if not for the laughter.

    regardless of how sophomoric you think this is, and we all know who's the worst critic, this poem has an interesting use of rhyme. it shows buds of a young woman who already appreciates the importance of using her words.

  5. flattery will get you everywhere, my friend. thanks, you.

    i found many old photos today, too! and my old journals, some other old writing, letters, and some of my grandmother's writing. super fun!

    i'll publish some of the other poems too, for kicks.

  6. "rain songs--and light rain streaming,

    in little rivers, down bark crevices.
    We could be trees. I am dreaming"

    thats really beautiful.
    I kept waiting for the crap and it never happened...

  7. you were pretty decent poet at nineteen.

    should you ever see the shite I wrote at nineteen?


    you're definitely consistent in your imagery, aren't you, beautiful, nature and green-loving friend.

  8. aw. loves. thanks.
    also? sex. also, love. that's about it.
    also, there is some shite in this pile, too.
    i don't really imagine some of it will hit the RS. :)

  9. i thought ghazal was a type of cheese. go figure.
    now where's that fucking poem? is it cheesy?

  10. *giggling*
    maybe i am and always have been cheesy.


Thank you for sharing your thoughts!