It’s the twenty-first day of our 30/30!
Less than ten prompts to go! You are an inspiration to us all.
Your prompt today is:
Describe the tree you climbed (or never climbed,
but dreamed of) as a child.
Guidelines, if you want them:
- Posting your response is not required
- Feel free to post your response 🙂
- This is not meant to be the perfect first draft – respond without hesitation for 5-7 minutes, then keep going if you want to
- While our prompts are geared towards poetry, we welcome all kinds of artists
- Tips & encouragement are here
QuillsEdge Press 
Sycamores over Middle Creek
The sycamore over the creek begs
walking, the way a long-line climber
scales a pole, but the tree leans
almost parallel to the ground now,
and I expect to see roots heaving
from the heavy loam. Yet I long
to throw a leg over like mounting
a good pinto pony, to inch my way
out, but the idea of the horse/tree
crashing into the ground/water with
me on its back is worrying enough
that I sidle through her upright
sisters looking for the morels I
came for. Air resonates with the
Imperceptible shift of pulling gravity,
as I remember that but five summers
past, she was a cradle for a heronry
before the capricious channel
eroded the soft bank. I rub the
curling bark like some talisman
but stay grounded as everything
else breathes, heaves, moves on.
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Pingback: #NationalPoetryMonth’16 Round-up (Day 21) | Bonespark~
A cherry tree, dark-barked
stood in the center of our tiny front yard.
Branches hung low enough to drape sheets
creating wonderful tents.
Climbing has not been my forte,
clumsy child that I was,
knees always skinned and red.
That never stopped me from trying.
Dad and Mom had opinions on such things though,
so I grappled up that tree maybe only once
to create of one of those imaginative playhouses.
I was scolded not only for climbing
but mainly for setting up one of those gypsy tents
that infuriated Dad’s sense of decorum.
I stayed perched on the ground,
loving the tree for its shade and a few occasional cherries.
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..gypsy tents that infuriated Dad’s sense of decorum… I can almost hear it!! Great line.
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Seasons in the Mirror of Time
Gnarled hands clasp together
on the front porch,
as a couple reflects over
the seasons.
In their lives together.
The oak tree in the front yard has
weathered many storms.
It has seen destruction
and stands proudly
having sheltered kids and grandkids.
They can see the laughter
from picnics and Koolaid parties.
The heart is still carved on
the tree with their names on it.
The tree continues to be
a haven, as squirrels drop nuts
and birds build nests
in the branches.
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