- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Yellow Pining
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Click hereA landscape changes in uprooted seconds,
before coffee, moments before
shades go up on the sun.
I was in those branches
when they were steadfast
and evergreen beneath my grasp.
No wind nor god
could fell this tree.
Beyond the lament of fallen limbs,
there are roots,
shadowed on white boards of home,
stark as wondering:
If this pine was bent to touch the ground,
then what endurance is there for me?
copyright d. dixon
12.28.2004
- COMMENTS
Maria2394about 12 years agoI wish I could write like this! You are a wicked poetic genius and I wish you would pop back in for a second or two. I hope you and your family are well, wherever you are. Hugs and blessings :)
~ maria
KOLKOREabout 15 years agoI was told that the huge poplar at my back yard is a soft kind of a tree. I don't know if it was supposed to make me feel any better (I was thinking: and how about me?), or the inevitable decision (the tree was sick and dangerously leaning in the neighbors' house direction) any easier. I felt like I was about to go under a horrible surgery, worse - like I was betraying a trusting friend. The cutting took much longer than I care to remember, and the land rumbled as if it was an earth quake – so big and tall was this sky scraper of a tree as it was falling…<P> Thanks for your lamenting poem which puts people and trees together -the way they should always be.
twelveooneabout 15 years agoyou know-
I pine for you.
Seriously, worth coming back!
"lament of fallen limbs" - good!
greenmountaineerabout 15 years ago"Yellow Pining" had special meaning for me. Where I live, yellow spruce was used for much construction in the nineteenth century (my floor boards are made from it and were laid in 1836!) We all pine for strength, youth, a solid house, perhaps even strong, protective parents.
If yellow pining exists only in my imagination, it still was an enjoyable trip for me.
UnderYourSpellabout 15 years agoReally enjoyed this made me want to go back and read it several times
Maria2394about 15 years agoI love the secrets you sprinkle about in your work. It's like code that you must delve into your poems to find answers and the journey always makes me feel better, wiser, stronger.
Angelineabout 15 years agoI like it. I also like that I sort of can't tell whether the narrator is talking about a tree or herself. Either one can be a metaphor for the other. I'd maybe change that "was" in the last line to a "were" because you're in a subjective verb tense (well technically you are) with that "if." Is this an older poem? I don't remember it. Or maybe it's a new poem about moving away from that tree.
