En español abajo. A new month begins, what better time to share poetry. After experimenting with several new forms, let’s return to a perennial favorite, free verse. The subject is trees; from blooming to fruiting, pines to maples. What is your favorite memory of a forest, of climbing, of fruit picked fresh? What do trees mean to you?
Reto poético de mayo 2021 Comienza un mes nuevo, hora perfecta para compartir poesía. Después de experimentar con varias formas nuevas, volveremos a una preferida, el verso libre. El tema es los árboles; de florecer a madurar fruta, sea pinos o arces. ¿Cuál es tu memoria favorita de un bosque, de trepar ramas, de cosechar fruta del árbol?¿Qué significan los árboles para ti?
Example poem: Debut Embrace
“Labor Day” Weekend
backyard trees in bloom.
Scent of purple lilacs
perfumed the hospital room
where my father held me
and my mother nursed me
for the first time.
Thoughtful arboreal gesture
man celebrating new kin.
Honey-clove fragrance of
this tradition-setting bouquet
memory
of our family’s debut embrace.
–Rebecca Cuningham 1 May 2021
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!
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Poema de ejemplo: El abrazo estrenar
Fin de semana del “Día Laboral”
los árboles del jardín en pleno flor
La fragrancia de lilacas moradas
perfume la habitación
donde mi papá me abrazaba
y mi mamá me daba el pecho
por la primera vez
Gesto bonito arbóreo por
el hombre celebrando su pariente nuevo.
Esencia miel y clavo
del ramo tradicional
trae la memoria
del estreno de nuestro abrazo familiar.
–Rebecca Cuningham 1 mayo 2021
¡Feliz día de la madre, Mamá!
Ahora amigos poetas, tienen hasta 15 líneas para su verso libre sobre árboles. La fecha de entrega es el 9 de mayo en los comentarios abajo. Poema apto para todas las audiencias por favor. Oye, amiga/o, ¿no tienes un árbol preferido y querido? ¿Por qué no escribir algo para el Reto poético este mes?
Poet friends, you have up to 15 lines of free verse to write about trees. The due date is 9 May, in the comments below. G-rated poems, please. Dear reader/writer, I’m guessing there is a tree you love. Why not try the Poetry Challenge this month? : )
¡Gracias por leer Fake Flamenco! ¡Olé! –Rebecca
Fake Flamenco 
Well, I think I might have my subject already, but the closing date is pressing! Yours is a lovely, moving piece – mine will be very different.
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Thanks, Margaret. Glad you have a poem cooking and that it will approach the subject in your own way. I appreciate your kind words about my lilac poem.
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Love your tree poem, Rebecca. My favorite tree is the flamboyant (Delonix regia) that lined the avenues of Georgetown, the city where I was born. I look forward to reading all the submissions 🙂
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Thank you, Rosaliene. I can see why it’s your favorite. It’s a beautiful tree and reminds you of your childhood home. My first intro to it was in Santiago, Chile. Thanks, I do too!
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I love your tree poem. I wrote a poem about trees several years ago. I will see if I can find it and participate in the challenge!
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The Great Pine
Needles carpeted the clearing near my grandparents’ cottage.
Taller cousins scrambled up toward the treehouse, while I
Raised my arms for a boost to the lowest branch.
Grown-ups sat outside the flap of our heavy canvas tent,
Talking dull grown-up talk. Later young and old might gather
Under the Great Pine for supper or a songfest.
In those Laurentian summers, this clearing was holy ground.
Years later I return on pilgrimage, myself a grown-up now.
The cottages still stand, same shingle siding, different owners.
The blue-green lake still licks the beach. But the Great Pine –
Age-wearied? toppled by a storm? – is gone without a trace.
No carpet of needles, no clearing, nowhere to pitch a tent.
Not even a footpath.
New trees will grow, new families find new magic.
For me, the magic lingers only in mythic memory.
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Thank you, Sarah, for your important childhood tree-filled memory. Well done in the impact of the lost tree on the reader. Sorry it was gone!
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What memories, what wistfulness!
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Lovely!
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Thank you, Rupali! Tempted to write a poem this month?
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Love these words..an amazing poem
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Thank you very much! Lilacs are the smell of the room I almost feel I can remember from the day of my birth. : )
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Here I am, just in time. This tells the story of last late spring, when a song thrush took over that beech tree and sang from morning till night for weeks, A potent memory.
The beech tree and the thrush
The garden trees
get clothed for summer.
Tight-knuckled branches unclench:
extend their fresh green fingers.
Except the beech:
still skeletal and tightly budded
stands gaunt and almost bare.
One day a thrush arrives
and commandeers the topmost branch.
He sings, carouses, carols
and tells the world
this beech, this tree is his.
Summer has come.
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Hope I am not too late
https://www.writingforums.com/blog/leaves.2314/
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