Poor little tree on Passyunk, between Morris and Tasker: dead before its time."You do stuff
I wrote poems on its trunk, hung can tabs and ribbons green and red from my spirit stick to make it feel better... even though it's dead. And feathers--that it would think a bird has come to call and left a card. To make it feel better.
But no one stops to see. They pass it by. They don't see the dead tree
They don't see the poems,
or the aluminum tabs
or the leaves dangling from fine copper wire
or the ribbons green and red from my spirit stick.
I think it needs more poems. Come hang poems from the branches!
Write poems on the smooth barkstripped trunk! Make it a happy poem tree!
At the very least, stop and say hello. Stop and pay your respects to a tree who died too young
Even better, take ribbon or colored string and leave poems on clips so people can take and read them. Anon... or leave your name and webpage and where someone could buy your books... or send you money for your poems cause poets have to live too. Or just so they know where to send you thanks, to tell you how happy they were to read your poems (most poets really like that too--even if some won't admit it)
I think we need lots of poem trees--in winter.
Winter poem trees, poems for leaves.
Think how HAPPY the trees will be!
Poems fluttering in the wind for the trees to recite on cold winter nights!
There are so many poets in Philadelphia--except for other poets, most people don't know how many wonderful poets we have in Philly. We should let them know. Winter poem trees would love to help us, I know they would.
Trees don't like hugs. This is a misconception passed along by people who don't like trees at all. But they do like poems. And sometimes, if you place both palms against the trunk, pressing neither too hard or too softly, (I swear this is so!) you can feel... and sometimes even hear them thrum with pleasure... like gigantic misshapen cats.
and then you write about it
and if the stuff you do
is a poem
you are a poet"