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Tags [edit]: christmas, tree

Yeah I got to fill this space for a project, but given lack of time, I'll just post my old favourite here. This is the only poem that was ever refused by the magazine I write for. When you read it, you'll know why. I wrote it on a  December evening after being asked to write a poem that would bring people in the "Christmas mood"

Cutting of the Tree

While squirrels buried forest gems
within my wooden chest,
I sipped the songs of nightingales
that wandered from the nest.

My feet would snuggle in the ground,
entwined with rabbit holes;
I welcomed nibbles on my toes
of woodchucks, mice and moles.

When autumn snatched the maple leaves
off every verdant crown,
I gave old needles back to earth
but kept my summer gown.

In frozen fields of wintertime
as skies were arching low,
I swayed amidst my family-
green sculptures in the snow.

But once upon a Christmas day
a brush caressed my knees,
two crossing lines of paint on bark-
a sign, condemning trees.

A chainsaw mulched my waist to dust,
exhaling dirty smoke;
its metal teeth bit nerves and veins
until my body broke.

By Chris W Copyright © 2005-2009