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Poetrees, by Britta Benson

I wrote a blog post today about my mother’s tongue and here’s a wee poem I was left with at the end of it. We need more Poe-Trees!


A little thought, a frolic in the dewdrops

sunk into my heart, became a thunk,

a truth so everlasting it can only die

with me, kicking, screaming, shouting

from the rooftops of my soul:

We need more poetrees!

Let’s plant a forest, rhyme and chime

or step on stones and carry bones.

Let’s ransack, roam the woodlands

we own in the deepest, darkest chambers

or our chests. Plant the forgotten seeds.

Your mother’s tongue is rain and sun,

is all you’ll ever need to make up more

and reclaim the abundance of abandoned soil.

Please plant a poetree and if not now, then when?

We need their oxygen, their thousand shades

to frolic in the morning dew drops yet again,

to shock our feet and tread more gently

into endless days of hope and plenty.

When everything we want seems stuck

in twisted tongues, and we’re too busy

to untie the knots, forget the fancy footwork

of excuses. You cannot leap in fear.

Your heart was raised on poetrees,

on words your mothers sang into your soul

with countless lullabies. Your heart was fed

on tales hugged into you with love so strong

it nearly cracked your ribs and made you smile.

It’s time to plant a poetree, if not for me,

then do it for your mamee’s sake.

Look after her gift and pass it on.

Let all our children’s children play,

let them discover life, love, freedom, trust

in the shade of tall strong poetrees.

They’ll carry tough and tender seeds

into the universes yet to be created.

Britta Benson

If you are interested in the blog I wrote, here’s the link.


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