Growing Trees is a poem about making roots

in our own garden and extending branches towards

the world outside.
Its about taking care and caring, about the gardeners
that we all are.
Marie Wintzer

Dont second-guess
growing trees
write off
the unanswerable questions
plant every seed
springing forth
a compatible labyrinth
welcome to the secret world.
Cheryl Penn

Growing Trees

He stepped forward because

They knew
he was sharp

looking for roots.

May I have a word?

Anchorage

in my position

we chase leaves
to make a living
activating every seed
I could lay my hands on.

Be still.
The rings of years
are our Black Box
-their language has been lost
but not their gestures
Not even scars any more,
only lines to tiptoe on
like a mute phonograph record

Man lines

Arbourglyphs
carving before
D-day
two memories joined
the better to fight.
Calibrate the rings
thats cold
you know what Im thinking

rings of years
turned, tuned
things you cant right
sometimes its best

to get out
the way of
scars.

I came to meet the Gardener,

he said those seeds
are of a Phylogenic Tree,
I need its leaves to be our
key.
We'll hang your paintings
on its branches.
When days turn moist
and nights benign
we'll browse the Palimpsest
unhurried, hushed,
one page a semblance of breath.

Purple storms
jacaranda blooms
A few rhetorics in place
from another side
whispered to make things happen
its pivotal to place a call
to
the Gardener
on eclectic wings
-its her side kick
you know
home in half an hour
on the back of

messenger blossoms.

They don't mind

breaking ground,
the Light-Rail Map knows them.
Their feet too are wet
and paved with
inverted kisses.
Go ahead then flying
on them amended buds,
calibrate those wings
into perennial allure
- prespell intended -

Row upon Row of Phylogenic Trees,

STOP
where is the librarian?
you are not permitted
in
honour
of allowed back here.
The plans of the new plantation

remember when

it was the only way
to learn about the world
youre a connection to the past
you have a connection to

the printed word.

True story:
Van Gogh's knuckles
and his stomach
were coated with yellow paint
(the Mimosa Tapestry).
The stamped word
used to like it in there,
printing its roots
onto the wallpaper,
swimming without ripples
in the warmth
of his deepest commotion.

They

said to him you dont take

care of yourself in the midst of
mimosa madness
we shall have to get
someone fake to take care
of you/words/paint/roots
your memory may be wiped
but your hat was on
I could not see your eyes
in
Rows upon Rows

of Phylogenic Trees.

You had a dream

Sit down, I will tell you
running backwards
with your hair
in your face
in a parallel world
where even Time cannot fly.
That's nice, but
can we make a living
with those shrubs
or are they only going to grow
roots-into-blind-pipes?
You know their mirrors
aren't that acute anymore
Are you sewed-up?

collecting shattered glass roots

hitting dust from books
eagles on wooden cupboards
mirrored in dirty bowls
everything is off
when we dream backwards
in a discarded house.
Hey Dad
its Madison (from a parallel world
Sans trees)
how are you
fine, you
know
fine

a connection lost.

Maybe you should see

the Taxman on the Hill
(he irons his electricity bills
but they don't love him back).
He too
lost connection
lost his mind on the Light Rail
lost his wedding ring in the
mailbox
lost a decade of photographs
lost all craving for junk food
lost the remote while TV was
watching him
It won't be long until
Dust relapses into Libraries

did
-Walking the autumn road

He obviously(?) never

in the near spring

a hybrid loping past.
when did you wake up
and encounter the change?
tuck your shirt in Buster
its going to get rough
Here
where were Growing Trees.

I saw him, Buster.

I saw him running away
with my Mask of Happiness.
It's chipped, he said,
we'll get you a new one.
But he ran
For a twinkling trice
his eyes took in the back yard.
They were chiseled in amber.
Everything in there was preserved
for ever more -
Nothing grew.

Athens.
where Gabriels memory
was wiped.
the light is off

but your hat on

I cant see your eyes.
sadness loomed
in the cold spring
somewhere in the near future
another year/ another time/
another place.
the real question is
Who are you?
What do you want?
he just took off (as you say)
Im wondering what
his special skill may be
It certainly wasnt

growing trees.

I used to know what I want.

A routine quite right
from afar,
but now
That Hole
in the screen
[]
Fill it with bargains.
They soak up leftovers
(the bland, the peevish ones).
Oh no need to be sarcastic
You know foolishness too
comes with its lineage of legal bravery.
I hear orchards thrive on quicksand;
maybe it's time to go out there.
Go then.
Go, just don't sow last year's seeds.

A Residual Paradox
Ed, what have you got
A Seeding Paradox.
an unlike coincidence

dont you think?
lets go see a friend of mine
hes always counting money
on that quicksand.
You see and hear nothing here
what can be gained
by a sinister smile?

Were looking for a tree map

not too many of those around
a steel spike?
word was he works out the 12th floor
with lots to hide.

Is your friend theGardener?

I met him
onTheScrambler the other night
while video killed the radio star.
This grove has a gap in it,
it just does.
Well then.
Should I jump over?
You might as well surrender
to the nextflow
Just around the corner.
The high-speed-tilt-a-wheel is going so fast
that they won't be able
to do
Anythingill-advised.
A green blur only.
A persistence of hunger
and shortsightedness.

Do not believe in

something
just because you heard it.
Take What If?

It is full

we are filled

with speculation and sap
first empty your cup
before the next sip
it tends to slip

tender
while we meet at the west gate.
We were lied to you know
we took a trip once
as our father cancelled orders
because of growing trees.
She has a thing for trees
did you know
she had a thing for trees?

(And Gardeners)(perhaps).

 2015 Books Of Ether

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