Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Poem: The Soul's Correspondence


The Soul’s Correspondence

Freely, the black locusts bend and wave
from limbs and fingers, waterfall
spray across their stone slab of sky.
The older the tree, and taller,
the greater the grace. The young
birch and plum imitate with curtsies
in their small way, new to the wind.
The spruce’s scraggles heave and flutter.
Bamboo hisses; leafless poplar echoes.
They write poems with ease,
roots deepening below them in the earth.
Not buried exactly. But weighted,
spindling toward magnetic center.
Listen birds, stop squawking at me.
I want to hear the Soul’s correspondence
through the spirits of trees, while I rest
hands in my lap. No writing. No work.
Up from the essence of survival. No,
listen. It is far more than that.

March 2012


erin said...

it is absolutely as real as a table (knock knock) this essence offered up to us, proof of the more.

i love your characterization of the trees. i laugh to recognize them as though we are friends.


Kathleen said...


Maureen said...

Beautifully written, Ruth. The trees' sound-spirits can be heard.

hedgewitch said...

Nature's voice, nature's ways, woven into us and through us, and in those roots we tap the soul and spiriti of ourselves and...'so much more.' Very fine and atmospheric poem, Ruth--your experimental one yesterday threw me a bit out of whack, so sorry for no comment there--I am not very good with filling in the blanks, though I think that form was extremely intriguing in leaving a subject open-ended, and also in the delicate nudge the poet can give the reader under its wraps.

The Solitary Walker said...

Exactly! Trust in the tree ...

Lorna Cahall said...

Lovely poem...such a dance of life. Wonderful title, as well.

Elisabeth said...

Stirring thoughts, Ruth - that we can stop and simply listen to the trees. Poetry at its best. Thank you.

Stratoz said...

I hope the birds listen to you and find the joy and piece of stillness

Anonymous said...

I long for such serenity... just to listen. But it seems spring brings along activities, bustling and scurrying. And the thing with blogging, you feel so obligated, so pressing sometimes. I love this poem, conveying stillness and peace. Thanks for the thought.

The Broad said...

Very mysterious -- like death throes into birth pangs...

Anonymous said...

No one I think would wish the difficulties of their own soul road -- we each, I think, carry a cross down it -- and yet the surrender yields such unexpected depths and resonance, like resting one's own hands to listen. That's the difference, I understand, between prayer and meditation; the latter is talking to God, the former listening to the Voice. "No, listen. It is far more than" "the essence of survival." Thriving because it passes. Fine work again, Ruth. - Brendan

Ruth said...

Thank you, friends.

Ginnie said...

When I take my walks around our citadel city, Ruth, I love the trees especially now without their clothes. I like the added thought of their soul's correspondence!