Wednesday, August 1, 2012


below our welcoming garden
it sits
on a chunk of bleached wood

once it was a root
under soil and moss
fertilizing obsessions of the tree
leaving the limbs high in the sky
for the hungry vultures
waiting for the dead body
and another burial

summer fires had run through its veins
autumn hurled oak burrs
winter icicles fell from above
spring opened up its breath

after the dark storm had roared
I carried it home
dripping with sweat
and ancient drops of light
it was more than a chunk of wood

at home I sat it down
I spoke
it listened
I carved and sanded
it remained silent

lines started to form
around sand-flecked hollows
I sanded
I carved
it smiled
forming into a spirit head
coming back to where it once was

below our welcoming garden
it sits silent
a spirit head


Brian Miller said...

that is very cool sir...nice carving and great telling of its story through verse...

irene said...

You really brought it to life. Lovely description of the process. I like how nature plays a role in these lines:

summer fires had run through its veins
autumn hurled oak burrs
winter icicles fell from above
spring opened up its breath

Jules said...

My first thought was the head of a lion or seahorse. Or perhaps the remains of a ships carved masthead. Well then you have made a garden masthead. A delightful spirit for visiting eyes.

Thanks for your visit. Maybe one day I'll actually visit 'Lucy'.

Elizabeth said...

Your poem is a whole creation process. I especially like the lines and verses that express how you talked to that root and it listened and led you to the spirit head within it. Had a friend who bought some property that was choked with gnarled grape veins. She would spend time, talking to them, then listening to where they wanted to go, slowly bending them into the most beautiful dream catchers. She sold them and with the money, built a wonderful home on that piece of property. I spent more than one evening watching her do that cooperative magic by bonfire light. Wonderful story and poem Wayne and thank you for the memories.


Wayne Pitchko said...

thank you for your warm words Elizabeth....we live in the woods in the Rocky Mtns....I cut my own wood for the winter so I see soooooooo many roots and gnarls in the bush...quite amazing and so getting my wood doesn't seem so hard...also inspires me for muy paintings and poems and all that is good.

Sharp Little Pencil said...

Wayne, this paean to art from nature, from found objects, is wonderful. Imagining the former life of the tree, tracing all it was witnessed in its seasons, and finally following it to its new home. Truly a magical poem! Peace, Amy

Anonymous said...

Well crafted poem, and a wonderful underlying story.

Sheila said...

Very cool! I love trees, each and every part.