Why the old trees are felled,
To be the stock in the furniture mart,
When the stout stem is sliced,
Piece by piece to see the worth,
The one below my fertile hands,
Fondly handling and nourishing my pokes,
Once upon the time it must have had the buds,
So the fragrant flowers are bloomed,
Everywhere on its varnished surface,
When the right one sits beside its,
Worn out dreams, the nectar may flow,
Out of control from the silent trees.
i see the comment by T. Kaul refers to metaphor. that is probably part of the reason i don't completely understand the poem. i wondered what pokes meant and found some online definitions: • Poke (n.) A bag; a sack; a pocket. (v. t.) To thrust or push against or into with anything pointed; hence, to stir up; to excite; as, to poke a fire. (n.) A large North American herb of the genus Phytolacca (P. decandra) , bearing dark purple juicy berries; - called also garget, pigeon berry, pocan, and pokeweed. The root and berries have emetic and purgative properties, and are used in medicine. The young shoots are sometimes eaten as a substitute for asparagus, and the berries are said to be used in Europe to color wine. (v. t.) To thrust with the horns; to gore. (n.) A lazy person; a dawdler; also, a stupid or uninteresting person. (n.) The act of poking; a thrust; a jog; as, a poke in the ribs. (v. t.) To put a poke on; as, to poke an ox. (n.) A long, wide sleeve; - called also poke sleeve. (n.) A contrivance to prevent an animal from leaping or breaking through fences. It consists of a yoke with a pole inserted, pointed forward. (v. i.) To search; to feel ones way, as in the dark; to grope; as, to poke about. it is VERY coincidental that just yesterday i was thinking (i don't remember why) about a saying i hadn't heard in many years: a pig in a poke. choosing from the above definitions i'm guessing it refers to a small pig being held in a sack. hmmmm? anyway, i just remembered the title...a wooden table....which drew me to this poem. i'm guessing now that you are considering the source of the table (trees, bless them) and associating tree blossom nectar to the poems you create while sitting at the table. i still don't know what pokes refers to. and i wonder if the word why, starting the poem, is supposed to be when. hmmmm? again. now that i think i've figured out MOST of the poem i really am enjoying the tale it tells. thanks for sharing. :)
The nectar may flow, out of control from the silent trees. I haven't read something that beautiful and descriptive in a long time.
A beautiful metaphorical write..Enjoyed reading.
dream is dream, never worn out, thanks good write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
You see the tree, its buds, and flowing nectar when you view a wooden table. Immensely beautiful poem. Thank you.