I like to think this green man or tree spirit allowed me to see him in Petersham Park, Sydney, NSW, Australia.
Helter-skelter bark o’er limbs entwined
Twisting up, around and down to ground.
Memories of life and death enshrined
In branches, trunk, roots; barely a sound.
Majestic earthbound spirit of tree
Do me the honour, share thy stories.
I make this humble request of thee,
Let me now learn from past glories.
Hold me in thy rugged embrace here
To share wisdom and be enlightened.
Can we commune on life, death and fear,
Nature’s cycles and of peace strengthened?
Of man’s selfishness now and of old;
Magic talismans of power sought;
In keeping Earth’s balance be told,
The twists and turns of battles fought?
In struggles between darkness and light
Is there a part for me in this plight?
How can I help to make it alright?
What’s required to ensure future bright?
(c) Robert Jones 2014 All Rights Reserved
I find it too easy for my inner vision to be clouded by every day concerns and responsibilities; my physical life often weighs heavy on my heart. The physical world is also provides the key for my sprit to be unshackled and to regain flight.
Knowing the cues
The sound of the breeze through trees; the swish of the sea on the shore; the scent of jasmine; or the sight of a gently flickering candle help me to make an inner connection, however this doesn’t always do the trick.
The next step
I have written posts about the challenge of capturing as many ideas as possible when my mind is abuzz with inspiration. When the opposite is true, it is like casting a fine mesh net into a sluggish sea. Most of the brainwaves flow through and only a small number of seeds of inspiration are collected.
As with all fishing, patience and taking a break can help achieve a result. As my thoughts spark, connect and add substance to the seeds, they often prove to be a catalyst for something worthwhile. Even if I don’t succeed, beating myself up about it isn’t productive and there will usually be an opportunity to have another go.
Green moss adorned onlooker of the World,
Home to insects, animals, birds and snakes,
Lashed by rain, lightening scarred, while the sun bakes;
Stalwart sentinel, twisting branches, knurled,
Reaching to clouds on high with leaves unfurled,
Seasons run their course; sudden peace breaks
As man cuts down life for the wood he takes
Screeching saw, “Timber!” strip, chop, trim and hurled.
Fearsome visage masks gentle inner force,
Resolute guardian, woodland watcher stands,
Spirit strong among the trees’ earth bound roots;
The forest needs to stand free from man’s hands,
The cycle of life, a natural resource,
Relieve harm to Gaia as man pollutes.
(c) Robert Jones 2013, All Rights Reserved
I was inspired to write this poem when I saw what appeared to be a face, spine and pelvis in the mirrored image of moss growing on a tree trunk in Sydney Park.