Willow Tree Poem by David Taylor
Willow Tree
Oh blank paper,
mirror of my mind.
White heart, where is the blood
to run like words
across the page of time?
Bone and sinews, bile
and graying hairs;
concrete of existence, mine;
unbending, clinging to hidden girders
of life’s forged steel….
Willow tree
swaying in the wind,
teach me how.
How to reach up, and bend,
and trail my furthest thoughts
in that stream of love
which has no end.
.......Dear Mr David, I rate this poem WILLOW TREE as one of the best poems I have ever read on this website.....You are a great poet with genuine talent indeed.
An interesting poem. You might like my poem about writing, Host. Also another called Getting Older, which is a walk on the funny side. Val
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 8:23:50 AM # 1.0.0.1119
This has some great lines 'where is the blood to run across the page'? Also the way you've juxtaposed the permanence of structure in the steel girders with the fragility of aging, of gray hair and bile. The clinging to structure aspect is the mortal coil dilema and the furthest thoughts melting with the wind of never ending love is the spiritual quest. The willow bends with wind, the steel girders can't bend and retain strength and just as a side: wood has a higher tensile strength than steel because of its ability to bend. You have some good thoughts and expressions in this.