Word Of The Tree

[wasellajam]

Hi, Mark, plenty to chew on here. A lot of this could work both worldly and heavenly but you don't quite let that happen. Some notes so far:

Word Of The Tree

The merchants came
with the sudden breath of dawn,
hauling the stench of oils
and the bawl of chainsaw engines,
and the limbs of the tree
fell in heavy pieces
onto the red and stoney ground.
Strong imagery although "Merchant" (I was looking for axemen or foresters) and "red and stoney ground" (that may just be me not having trees growing out of that) were stumbles for me before the rest of the poem tweaked it for me. Same for the double "and" before the biblical cast. Nice hauling/bawls.

In the sigh of its burning,
the tree renders
a dry and gentle song.

The trash man weeps.
I wanted a word other than trash here until I thought about how everyone expects Jesus to sweep up after them. Ha, another "eep" word. I'd prefer no period here, the break and white space does the work and it would keep the next lines from being a fragment.

At the smoke of its roosts,
at the heaps of its ashes,
at the great trunk standing
naked and black
on a bright morning.
Roost instead of roots is interesting. Weeps/heaps is nice.

He weeps for his daughter,
who sings and thrives
on every fruit of the tree,
knowing she will die
without words.

(Here, too, the leaves
will be first to go,
brittle and pale,
with dark veins.)
I'm not sure the () add anything.

  *****

The trash man possesses
but a single magic.

The twelfth moon bursts
whole on a Sunday.
Lovely lines.
He whispers
the scripture of Eve
as he nails
to the gnarls of the tree
all he has ever held
to be beautiful,
that he might keep
all he has ever loved.

  *****

December sweeps its hot bristles
across the Greater Antilles.

Jamaica swelters;
from the shacks of Riverton
to the yards of Cherry Garden,
Kingston town breathes ras.

Here, at the corner
where Hope meets Old Hope,
Love these lines on many levels, the layers of a town, life, basis for religions.
the trash man labors
in the arms of the tree.

(-my God thats mango
smeared across the hairs
of his chest see he me
we tree three be the
madman Lion Perhaps
Judah skin dust to dark
earth damn hot-)
I don't know why both the -- and ()

His art rasps with color,
chimes metal hollows,
bribes jerky shapes into
wings and tails:
I haven't been able to parse "bribes jerky".

Chromium-coated
hubcaps and bumpers
turn in the sun,
brightly painted boxes
and dull plastic sheets
flail in the wind,
kitchen utensils dangle
on long wires, a window
frame rests crooked.
Fun imagery. But do gods make art of what we perceive as sins? Is that what you're saying or have I gone astray?

  *****

The trash man measures
the change of seasons
as the craft drizzles
free from his treasures.
Haven't gotten this yet.

  *****

Roots black as Jesus
reach to God's Own Heart.

  *****

One night,
the trash man’s daughter
awakens to hear weeping.
She wades a dew
to find
the fifth moon
embraces
the tree.

The tree is sad with fruit.
I don't really get this line but enjoy thinking about it so okay.

Her fingers
tremble
as she plucks
and unfolds
from the tree

this poem.
So, the poem flies all over, I'm not sure reminding me that it's a poem suits. Maybe "these words" or something else.

mtc26

I find this poem interesting in form, language and meaning. Ambitious work, thanks for posting it.