Heavy rains finally broke the drought
A large eucalypt, perhaps 5 feet across, came down
Falling across a fence, it needed to be cleared away
I cut through the base with a chain saw
The two sections parted, revealing the grain
In the cross-section the wood had a strange newness
And it started to bleed a thick red sap
Not a little trickle from beneath the bark
But a rich, blood flow from 3 or 4 main arteries
Would it taste like blood? I was compelled
On my finger the redness rapidly congealed
And no, it tasted of the tree itself
That taste, so subtle, recalled another tree
Maybe I was eight when I tried that sap
It was a delicacy shared with Peter, my friend
He was my friend of wrestling, wars and discovery
He drew me apart, started the journey
From mother and brothers, to many friends
Years later I sought him out
He was desperately ill by then
Hands yellow from nicotine
He shook with inner demons
He took his own life (I think)
What is the colour of his blood?
Peter and the Tree
Poem about early friendship, memory, life. It is for my first friend. That first deep friendship is as memorable as one’s first love. Maybe it is one’s first love.
(The poem is not about Peter O’Sullivan whose obituary I have written also.)
Tom Godfrey, about 1 year ago
Wo! powerful and poignant. I did not expect the final sad twist, but it gave contrast to the lighter, earlier years. Similarly, with a painting, committed darks make the light sing. Well done, my “narrative” friend.
Anne van Alkemade
,
about 1 year ago
this is from deep within
I feel it.
Popular Mr, about 1 year ago
This story makes me sad :(
Barb Leopold, about 1 year ago
amazing how one small event leads to many memories … and a sad tale. Love it.
Chris White, about 1 year ago
Love it how you’ve used the tree as both a metaphor and a trigger of the recollection of a memory. A nice little poetic Gordian knot.
Paul Louis Vil..., about 1 year ago
Ouch! The ending snapped me out of my blissful daze!
That’s ok too, extremely well written Pilgrim! :D
Pilgrim
,
about 1 year ago
Thank you all, I find writing is becoming very important. A poem like this about something very real and specific to me is not a poem – it is about the essence of my life. I cannot force them or make them. But I can ignore them and for years did so. The poem unwritten is a probably the saddest thing.
Ozcloggie, about 1 year ago
Thanks for your comment, on my reminiscences. Actually, I was poised to also write about my friendship with a boy called Piet (Dutch version of Peter). It was in my mind because I also walked to and from school with him – after those girls left.
AND, it is going to seem like copying but your poem made me think of the friend with whom I played squash, and 500, and drank, and shared some somewhat dramatic events and who was best man at my wedding and who rang me, in 1992, when he’ just heard he’d have 6 months.
Fortunately, I dropped by a few years ago and, with medical help, he was able to sit and chat with me and joke, like before.
Oops. Just meant to write: Thanks.
petruccio, about 1 year ago
It’s lovley, Pilgrim.
“He shook with inner demons”- you paint a picture so vivid with so few words. That’s magic.
A. JILL GAEBEL, 11 months ago
A compelling work with a lot of emotional impact. Well expressed.