Beech Tree

I saw him fall, the giant on the hill.
Two hundred summers he had stood,
one legged, upon the spot, though arms,
he had a score;
reaching out, as if to cradle life,
or touch his fellows standing
by his side.
His presence felt eternal.

In his place beside the path
he had grown tall,
survived the trials and tribulations
of the young.
In his time he built long friendships
with companion trees
and learned to tolerate
impertinent attentions
from the lesser things
that used him for their home.
They lived out brief but poignant
histories of their own.

This spring, he still stood tall and proud.
The winter gales could not move him
but the waking sun incited sap to flow
from root to crown and put forth leaf
that was to be his shroud.
A shower of rain, the last that he would feel,
soaked earth and leaf,
the soil loose about his feet,
with extra weight above,
his footing lost, he fell.
I heard his last despairing moan,
A ghastly sound,
as with awful dignity
he described one final arc
and measured out his length
upon the ground.

Great depiction of how we become attached to trees. By the end, I could feel a deep sorrow upon seeing it fall. Outstanding use of sound devices.

This spring, he still stood tall and proud. ing-ood-oud-with rolling -llls
The winter gales could not move him oh ail the Os and oves
but the waking sun incited sap to flow ite ap oh-trickles out like a brook

It's the assonance you have here, and with a talented ear. Your vowels roll throughout like curves of muliebrity.

Quote:

---

as with awful dignity
he described one final arc
and measured out his length
upon the ground.

---

conjures the image with an architects precision and with a lovers sorrow. Very well done, and I'm not just saying that.
lal

Hawk, you are one of the very few people that could pull such tragedy from a common occurence. By the end, you really feel attached to the tree, and feel the sorrow of it's demise. I really enjoyed that, in a sad kind of way. Thanks very much

and measured out his length
upon the ground.

Masterful, compassionate and so closely observed!

Hi lall, and thanks very much. I spent a fair amount of time in and around those woods. The sound it made when it fell was truely awful. I'm particularly pleased that you enjoyed the sonds of the poem. But I must thank you too. "Muliebrity" Now that's a great word which I will remember. Deserves it's own spot in the one word poem strand, methinks.

Hi Dafydd, It may be a common occurrance, but one that is seldom seen I think. After a gale we may venture out and curse because a tree has fallen accross the road, but to witness a tall and apparently healthy tree fall, especially with the nioise it makes is actually quite shocking, well I thought so anyway :D

Thanks Prince, glad you think so.

Thank you all again for reading and commenting.

Via con Dios, H

I've felled a few, and it a truly awful sound. I had to give it up - I felt guilty!

So you were a lumberjack but not ok
Did you sleep all night and work all day?
Did you cut down trees and eat your lunch
and go to the lavatory,
and on Wednesdays did you go shopping
and have buttered scones for tea?

I shall not ask about the women's clothing...

H

I wish I was a girlie, just like my dear Papa. No I was a Woodsmans Assistant, which meant that we didn't have The Rules (No P*******s), and we didn't drink Tubes of Cool. It was whilst I was still at school. (Quite a while ago, then!)

omg. My heart is so heavy for this gracious tree which you have paid homage to with such eloquence.

This is very descriptive well written poetry about a falling tree, I enjoyed it.

Hi Delta,

It lay were it fell for a good few months before it was eventually chopped up and carted away, a process which, itself, took a couple of weeks. Dobtless, in time, its place will be taken by an equally grand inhabitant. Only 70 or 80 years to wait. Thanks for your reading and your comment.

Jesterhead, Thank you, glad to give you a worthwile read.

Live long and prosper. H

PS, I neglected to mention that I was quite releived not to have been underneath it when it fell.

Wonderful, Hawk.

Great images; I really enjoyed the 'one legged' tree. So simple, but brilliantly effective.

A lot of the poem seems (naturally?) to lean towards blank verse, eg. (with a bit of rearranging of the furniture - the x marking a missing beat):

I saw him fall, the giant on the hill.
Two hundred summers he had stood, one legged,
upon the spot, though arms, he had a score;
[x] reaching out, as if to cradle life,
or touch his fellows standing by his side.

There is a certain dignity that goes with blank verse that seems to lend itself very well to the poem.

I felt there were a few cliches, which the poem could do without: 'trials and tribulations', 'tall and proud'. And perhaps would have liked more of the sound of the tree falling, rather than being told it was 'a ghastly sound'; but as others have commented, it's a great ending. A nice tribute.

very enjoyable Hawk. 'tis funny our attachment to trees. Is it their age, their grace, their size? This poem would not work on the cutting of a lettuce. Yet, its no different outside of our eyes. You have gone and got me thinking, damn you, I was determined not to, today ;)
cheers Hawk

A noble eulogy, Hawk. Living right on the edge of a native Scots pine woodland I know how one becomes attached to the trees, watches their moods and suffers with them when one is taken out by a storm.

B/V Many thanks for your analysis. There are a couple of things which I wasn't quite happy with in this poem and you have brought them into sharp focus for me. When I have time I will give this one a little polish and post a revision.

JB Thanks, I'm glad you like it. For me it is size and age with trees, and of course, the gaps they leave in the landscape when they fall, which take so long to replace. I will not live to see the restoration of the skyline on this hillside. Always happy to give people something to think about, whether they want it or not :D

Thanks hill, I wonder what the ancient caledonian forest looked like. I have seen the ancient stumps, pleached like bone, protruding from the peat beneath the heather, high above culloden. They make the spine tingle at the though of their age. I'd love to see a bristlecone pine. But I've met a yew or two, whose age staggers at around 1200 years. Anything which lives that long is worthy of respect.

Thank you all for reading and your comments.

Live and be well, H