Tree Day Poems
Daughter’s on Tree Day
Once their hair hung down to their waists
In swinging twin cascades of gold and chestnut
Sister Light, Sister Dark
Dancing spirits in bright, constant, bubbling motion
Now that hair is short and chicly shaped
Their eyes are shadowed, their lips shined
Their long legs encased in leather
Those spirits move fluid now, eloquent
Cursive, cosmopolitan, smooth, sophisticated
They go out into the night
Like twin stars
Burning sculpted double patterns of light
In a black velvet sky
But, today
They have come up the mountain
To choose a Christmas tree
Eyes bare of makeup glisten in the bright cold air
Stocking caps are pulled down
Over the short tufts of their unwashed hair
The icy white wind paints their cheeks
Bright little girl pink
Smoothing out an urbane curve from eyebrows and lips,
It wipes ten years away from their faces
And they are twelve again
I watch them skip away,
arms linked Sister dark, sister light
Twined shadows dancing on the snow
The tall pines echo with their bubbling laughter
And the sun on the snow sparkles, shimmers and shines
Caught in the streaming swirl and sway
Of these strong singing spirits
That time will never
Really Still
© Edwina Peterson Cross
Tree Day 2004
A Tale Told in Haiku
tall Oregon pine
heavy silence fills it’s boughs
soft snow filters down
this crepe-white Tree Day
a magical Christmas mist
haunts the mystic wood
my brilliant daughters
their studies all forgotten
run like little girls
into the forest
toward the pillowed dreamy trees
seeking Tradition
tall son dressed in black
sugared by the sifting show
vanishes in mist
small dog bounds woodward
so fast he becomes a blur
swimming Milky Snow
whipping waves of wind
close around silence once more
white mist swallows all
winter coldly smiles
soft, the Hunter speaks to wood
evergreen is found
harvested with joy
The Holly King in triumph
is gathered by all
cycle comes again
dance from Solstice to Solstice
life is woven here
and the children sing
and climb amid the branches
one more year of joy
and in the warm truck
poet’s fingers drop her pen
dreams of Christmas mist …
© Edwina Peterson Cross
Once their hair hung down to their waists
In swinging twin cascades of gold and chestnut
Sister Light, Sister Dark
Dancing spirits in bright, constant, bubbling motion
Now that hair is short and chicly shaped
Their eyes are shadowed, their lips shined
Their long legs encased in leather
Those spirits move fluid now, eloquent
Cursive, cosmopolitan, smooth, sophisticated
They go out into the night
Like twin stars
Burning sculpted double patterns of light
In a black velvet sky
But, today
They have come up the mountain
To choose a Christmas tree
Eyes bare of makeup glisten in the bright cold air
Stocking caps are pulled down
Over the short tufts of their unwashed hair
The icy white wind paints their cheeks
Bright little girl pink
Smoothing out an urbane curve from eyebrows and lips,
It wipes ten years away from their faces
And they are twelve again
I watch them skip away,
arms linked Sister dark, sister light
Twined shadows dancing on the snow
The tall pines echo with their bubbling laughter
And the sun on the snow sparkles, shimmers and shines
Caught in the streaming swirl and sway
Of these strong singing spirits
That time will never
Really Still
© Edwina Peterson Cross
Tree Day 2004
A Tale Told in Haiku
tall Oregon pine
heavy silence fills it’s boughs
soft snow filters down
this crepe-white Tree Day
a magical Christmas mist
haunts the mystic wood
my brilliant daughters
their studies all forgotten
run like little girls
into the forest
toward the pillowed dreamy trees
seeking Tradition
tall son dressed in black
sugared by the sifting show
vanishes in mist
small dog bounds woodward
so fast he becomes a blur
swimming Milky Snow
whipping waves of wind
close around silence once more
white mist swallows all
winter coldly smiles
soft, the Hunter speaks to wood
evergreen is found
harvested with joy
The Holly King in triumph
is gathered by all
cycle comes again
dance from Solstice to Solstice
life is woven here
and the children sing
and climb amid the branches
one more year of joy
and in the warm truck
poet’s fingers drop her pen
dreams of Christmas mist …
© Edwina Peterson Cross
posted by Unknown | 10:56 PM
2 Comments:
Beautiful, Winnie, you are in fine form, but then I expect no less of you.
Hugs, Vi
The picture is my three real kids. I usually have a lot of extra daughter's on Tree Day. In "Daughter's On Tree Day" one was my biological daughter and the other a daughter-in-love who has been her best friend forever. The "three daughters" in the next poem were my other biological daughter and two daughters-in-love. I had to quit using my kids names anywhere because a professional college of my eldest daughter pulled up her name on the web and there she was all over in MY comments. I can't change the names of the poems that bear their names, but I promised I would quit posting them anywhere else. The world is WEIRD.
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