Tuesday, February 23, 2010


I had come out of the flood
Exposed like a root
To the chopping of a woodsman’s axe
I had siphoned off the blood
Like some failed serpent
Born of dust
I had no offerings
This gnarled effigy
Made all the uglier
By it’s lack of green
I had absorbed the colour of earth
Like litmus paper
Had become that in which I thrived
Yet lost myself
No one remarks of the root
When admiring the tree
The branches and leaves-
A trunk on which to lean
These are the beauties
Not the furled fingers of a love knot
Soaking up water and nitrogen
Breathing into the breadth
Above it
Like a respirator
Like a reminder
Like a death.


  1. A powerful poem, Louise. I love the line that "...no one remarks of the root while admiring the tree." Beautifully conceived and executed!

  2. I agree with Rick. I'm no poet but I loved the read and that's what counts, isn't it?.

  3. Thank you Middle Ditch and Rick! So lovely to know someone is reading my ramblings!