David McLansky

Veteran Poet - 1,578 Points (5/24/1944 / New York City)

Old Gnarled Tree - Poem by David McLansky

There goes a woman in the mists....
Beneath the tangled trees, ....
She steps upon the boggy mire, ....
The wood stumps and the leaves; ....
In a gown of velvet plum....
She wanders in the gloom, ....
A silver cross upon her breast....
That sparkles in the moon; ....
Her hair is streaked with gray and red, ....
Her tresses loosely combed, ....
In silver slippers does she tread....
Across the rocks and loam; ....
Her face is of an earnest cast, ....
Her brow is arched with care, ....
She mourns the errors of her past, ....
Reliving her despair.....
....
The many dreams she does repine....
In shielding mists and fog....
Lay sunken in the bog of time....
Like broken trees and logs; ....
She calls upon the Spirit sprites....
To grant her peace of heart; ....
She calls out in the pale moonlight....
For echos to depart.....
....
The Lady in the swirling mist....
Halts by a Cypress tree; ....
By roots that seem a grasping fist, ....
She sinks down on one knee; ....
A shaft of light, a golden stream....
Pierces through the haze; ....
It lights her face in warming beam, ....
Her features ope' amazed.....
....
A voice is heard amid the calls....
Of insects, birds, and frogs; ....
The sea it slaps in rise and falls....
Against the fallen logs.....
'Grieve no more thou sweet and mild, ....
Your tears have stained my thorns; ....
In heaven dwells your ghostly child, ....
You're shriven as you're shorn.'....
....
A mighty wind explodes the air, ....
Tossing leaves everywhere; ....
Bending branches in its sway, ....
Snapping limbs in the fray; ....
Whipping, lashing, all a stir, ....
Drawing breath right out of her; ....
She turns, her hair streaming back, ....
The sky turns gray, then dark, then black; ....
She turns to grasp a branch, a limb, ....
It cracks and strikes her on the shin; ....
The tree bows down as if to pray, ....
And lifts her up in hoary sway; ....
Gently enfolds her harried form....
And safely clasps her in the storm; ....
Its bark is soft and strangely warm; ....
It moans to her a wind borne song; ....
It rocks her like a little child; ....
Its branches groaning, whipping wlld; ....
....
The storm abates, she is set down; ....
The tree bows down its lofty crown; ....
She curtseys to the old gnarled tree, ....
Recalling her captivity; ....
....
She smooths her gown, its ribbons torn, ....
And walks to town, her heart reborn, ....
Unburdened of her earthly woe, ....
Free of sins that no one knows.....


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Poem Submitted: Friday, January 25, 2013



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