28 February 2023

A Last Murmuring Song



 

 
Those of us who hear pines murmur,
translate for those listening,
and they sing in turn to affirm
truths they see as clear warnings.
 
You give nothing the trees say—
How many ways can you pray?
 
Why do you seal your dead in lead
when you could revive the soil?
Why do you drain black gold instead
of replacing flesh for oil?
 
You gave nothing the trees say—
How much more can you pray?
 
The bones of flora and fauna
you leave are trash, quantities
of matter, leftover trauma,
poison to our arteries.
 
You gave nothing the trees say—
Can you just sit and pray?
 
You don’t intend to nourish us—
beautiful and useful, too.
Your hills will erode without us.
Your food sources will not renew.
 
You gave nothing the trees say—
Can you give today?



For earthweal's  SOUNDSCAPES


My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.

© 2023 Susan L. Chast


2 comments:

  1. Sherry Blue Sky2/28/2023 11:25 AM

    You had me at the title! Beautiful. The message in this poem goes right to my heart. "You give nothing, the trees say. How many ways can you pray?" So true. And so sad. Love the lines about bodies nourishing the soil instead of being buried in lead. As if the soil is an enemy rather than a friend. A wonderful poem, Susan. Made my day.

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  2. Brendan3/02/2023 5:11 AM

    I honestly don't know why trees have anything do do with us -- maybe the silence we encounter (a natural throb ebbed dull) is indifference which comes of great wounding. Dunno, but the prayer here hurts wild. (Adding to your evidence, I read in the New Yorker about how phosphates that roused farming yields to feed a monstrous human population have flowed into lakes & seas creating monstrous dead zones.)

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