Beaten to a Pulp

Beaten to a Pulp

Look at the tree, what do you see?

Do you see communication, do you see the written word?

Sawn and pulped, a soup of mush, the newsprint of tomorrow.

Squeeze out and dry, roll by and by,

Do you see Headlines , do you see scoops?

Bleached and whitened, a continuous roll, the broadsheets of today.

Squashed and overjoyed, exposed in the tabloid.

Next time you see the tree, remember it is exclusive too.

Linda Prince

 

Dendrochonology

Dendrochonology

Dendrochonology – what secrets do you hide?

Round and round we go, the answer inside.

A ring on her finger, a year as a wife,

A history of seasons, the story of life.

Round and round they continue, curves map out events

We started out dating, now modesty prevents.

And the band encircles undercover affairs

Each hoop is a hope that circuits our cares.

Inside each proud trunk, heavy and bold

Bygone stories deferred, one day will be told.

Dendrochonology – what secrets do you hide?

Round and round we go, the answer inside.

Linda Prince

 

Conkers

Conkers

Children playing in the park

Laughing, shouting until it’s dark.

Run round the tree, climb up its bark

On to the branch, what a lark.

A wooden seat that makes a swing

Laugher rises, joyful noises ring

High in the air, we feel a king,

And yet below, now here’s the thing,

Children dance round collecting conkers

Generations have played, but now it’s bonkers

Traditional rules, old customs we applaud

But you mustn’t play, for now it is outlawed.

Linda Prince

 

Red Riding Hood

Red Riding Hood

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.

Why here’s a little tree just my size.”

I was five, going on six,

The school play beckoned.

‘You can be Red Riding Hood’

my form teacher reckoned.

‘Learn these lines, get a red cape.’

But the only thing that colour turned out to be red tape.

‘Stand here and deliver the speeches’

then the teacher turned attention to his breeches

‘And a lumberjack would really wear leather,

you work out in all types of weather.’

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.”

The forest was fidgety and the wolf scratched his nose.

The pianist plink-plonked, we kept on our toes.

The teacher directed and rehearsed us once more.

The lumberjack and wolf were fighting on the floor.

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.”

All the parents were bundled into the school hall.          

And the company performed, the audience to enthral.

We captured the moment, the bad and the good.

And the artists skipped along through the wood.

The wolf kept burping, granny threw a tantrum,

The lumberjack’s breeches were far from humdrum.

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.”

The opening line was delivered, the script totally inane

But the highlight of the evening was the trees’ own Dunsinane,

As they shuffled across the stage and a few shed several leaves

Mumbling as they migrated, scary beetles up their sleeves.

The parents they all loved it, the teacher took a bow,

And everyone agreed that the production had really been a wow.

The problem with school is that you are held in gentle captivity

And already the teacher is planning her next production – the Nativity.

Still, at least my mother won’t have to make an outfit red -

I’ll be a shepherd in a field, with a stripy towel on my head.

Linda Prince

 

Ties with my past

Ties with my past

The bus bumps, shock absorbers shock

And jolt my bones along the road.

How many years since I was in the dock?

And now again I await the judgement.

The bus struggles up the hillside

And jolts memories from the past.

A sickness churns deep inside

As I peek above the parapet.

The bus slows down, my heart skips a beat

Through grey streaked windows I glimpse

the carved heart that marks where we first did meet.

The wind is cold and the sky is grey.

The bus stops dead, the tree is bare.

My heart explodes like a hand grenade at war

Why should they remember, why should they care

I killed a man long ago.

The bus crunches a gear, it crunches two

And the air in my lungs burns with sorrow

I served my time, but reputation I slew

And now I am reaping the seeds.

The bus pulls away, my past catches me out

And I sigh as my gaze turns away from the tree

But then in the breeze, beyond any doubt

A ribbon of yellow is tied round its girth.

Linda Prince

 

Family Tree

Family Tree

A whirr of sound, the disc goes in.

Colour and lights and years flash by.

I fill in my name. I fill in yours. And wait.

Who will we meet today? Where will we go?

Already we have traced people many generations ago.

Today we go further, where we do not know.

But soft, who comes thither, a shadow?

I cannot make out the shape, yet somehow it seems familiar.

‘How say you sir? What business are you about? Speak!’

I wait, screwing my eyes that peer through the mists of time to see who comes here.

“Tis I. Did you not call me? Did you not wake me from my sleep?”

‘Why, Sirrah, have patience. Good time of day to you. Are you friend or foe?”

The ghost of the past halted and surveyed me, a smile upon his lips.

“Why friend or fiend, both have I answered to. And fie upon my foes

who royally did me wrong.“

‘Speak fair, regale me with your story regal, be you King or knave?’

“I have heard both whispered in mine ears, perjury howling from reddened lips.

But melancholy is fleet and conscience temporary, hiding behind darkly looks.

God gave me good rest but restless sleep.

Now I am awakened and those who hold me dear weep,

the crowning glory, a cherished crown to keep.”

‘Marry, my Lord, say you, are you then a kinsman from the past?’

The shadow turned and laughed, not a mocking sound but a mocking bird crowned.

‘Then be it so. Most certain I courted kith and kin most nimbly at the court.

Forsooth a man, transform’d to villain by a murderous libel.”

The ghost turned and smiled and called over his shoulder,

“The sun shines again. Proclaim it down the years,

through every branch stemming from this oak –

what is done has been undone and amends mend the sorrow,

discontent affords great dignity and our name reclaimed for the morrow.”

He walked through mist, trailing beyond the fog back into the past.

‘What name shall I say? What name shall men whisper?’

As he melted away I heard him laughing, answering at last,

“Tell them – Richard.”

                                                           

A whirr of sound, the disc comes out.

Colour and lights and years flash by.


Linda Prince

 

Woody

Woody

Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. This drilling is giving me a headache.

Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. So am I giving you an earache?

Nice piece of work, you think?

When I’m finished, go for a drink?

You see, I’m chiselling this wood,

I’m apprenticed to Gerry, he’s very good,

A craftsmen superb, carpenter of trees,

He can knock out an ant’s nest with consummate ease.

Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. Carpentry’s the game.

Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. Woody’s the name.

My overalls are green with a hat that is red

I hammer and hammer from dawn until bed.

One day I’ll be qualified to drill by myself

And then I’ll be laughing out loud with all my wealth.

But until then, tapping away with a head like a hammer

I’m carving and shaving like any head-banger

Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. I’m an apprentice tree wrecker

Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. Woody Woodpecker.

Linda Prince

 

Tyburn Tree

Tyburn Tree

Tyburn Tree, three legged stool waits.

A public spectacle, a small fee to see

A day out, a holiday.

Tyburn Tree, three legged mare grins.

Popular and rowdy, the best go west

A time to watch, celebrate

They put on a show, dancing high in the sky,

Condemned to delight, prancing by.

Tyburn Tree. Oh, Hanging Tree,

My finest clothes ready, are you ready for me?
 
Linda Prince