A cross-section cut through the trunk of a tree reveals its rings. Each visible ring marks the passage of a year, and tells us a little bit about what kind of year it was. The scientific practice of tree-dating is called Dendrochronology. Areas of application include paleoecology (study of past climates and ecologies); archaeology, in which it’s used to date buildings and old art panel paintings; and in radiocarbon dating. Growth rings are the well-kept journal in the life of a tree.
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a poem from Karen we enjoyed:
and the earth slowed
for a moment
reconsidering itself;
while soft rains came
loosening its grip
on yesterday;
leaning on reinvention
it gave away
its loveliness;
’til stillness found its place
and touched our hearts
with November
—by Karen Mae Zoccoli
***
POETRY PROMPT: You are a tree (what kind of tree will you be?). Pick a single growth ring and write a poem about what you witnessed during the course of the year. What did you learn? How have you grown?
Photo by Marilyn Peddle. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.
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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!
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Megan Willome says
Love that photo, Marilyn!
Will Willingham says
Not a new one, but it fits for a prompt about growth rings. 🙂
***
Back
I don’t know how to age
a tree, without cutting it open
to count the rings.
This tree in front of the tan house,
taller than its two stories,
is it older than me?
Did it once watch my yellow hair,
my skinny legs grow,
and cover me while I drank
Kool Aid in July
and tried to decide
whether to follow
my brother
or my sister
around that day.
Heather Eure says
Oh, I like this very much. So good!
Marcy says
Tall is my tree
It’s the very tall
Big, Bold and Mighty.
Dark Green
Year round
Cedar is her name.
She accepts
Birds all her life,
For they seek her for shelter.
She feeds them
Bitter blue tiny berries.
Wind comes,
Boy can she sway.
Snow hangs onto her,
She’s dressed in white today.
Heather Eure says
A lovely piece, Marcy. I can picture your cedar dressed in snow.
Donna says
What’s all this knocking
On wood?
The Center ring
will always
have its way.
http://thebrightersideblog.blogspot.com/2014/11/knocking-on-wood.html
Heather Eure says
Clever, Donna! I like it.
Robbie Pruitt says
Palm
The palm sways
Without breaking
In response to storms.
It bows to breaking days,
And shimmers in the sun’s rays.
The palm waves
To eternity—at the majesty.
It shimmers with the glory
And falls at its master’s feet
To bring in the rest of the story.
© November 25, 2014, Robbie Pruitt
Robbie Pruitt says
Here is a link to this poem with a graphic: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152897567951738&set=p.10152897567951738&type=1&theater
Heather Eure says
Wonderful, Robbie! Thought-provoking … with a handful of words.
Richard Maxson says
Rings With a Twist
From a near quartet the notes, like birds
across the yard, fell on my fragile limbs.
Then morning came, the peal the novice heard,
and from a window, perhaps thought it absurd
to see a sapling turning, as the words
of Lauds, made modest clouds like silent hymns.
Years gone, folks guess about the twist that gird
my mighty trunk, not one suspects the chimes.
Heather Eure says
I’ve read this several times and found something new to ponder each time. A pleasure to read. Thank you, Richard!
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
Rings of You
I’ve seen the birds on easy wings
and felt their gentle lingering
As sun and moon chased the light
threading years with day and night
I’ve seen the newness of a spring
And felt the chill that winters bring
Flowers that have come and gone
hopes and dreams that carry on
Long after all my green has browned
spun their way upon the ground
Despite the frost and snowy fury
wind and ice cannot bury
The fervor of the righteous heart
that knows of heaven’s better part
And keeps me in good company
by silent prayers’ great mystery
That binds me with an ageless mark
encircling this wooden lark
If only you could hear me sing
the song embedded in these rings
My world is of much quieter things
of lives drawn out in wooden rings
Then when the passing time has come
when these days on earth are done
I’ll remain here standing true
my rings remembering all of you
Robbie Pruitt says
This is so good Karen!!
This is really nice:
“If only you could hear me sing
the song embedded in these rings
My world is of much quieter things
of lives drawn out in wooden rings”
Great poem.
Marcy says
Karen,
This is beautiful, how you added the rings, seasons, true feelings of the tree. Enjoyed reading it so much, very good poem.
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
Thanks Marcy so glad you enjoyed it!
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
Thank you Robbie 🙂
Donna says
Wow. It’s so lyrical. I can FEEL the rings. I really love this line: “encircling this wooden lark” and that was my favorite line until I saw this: “lives drawn out in wooden rings,” and now I can’t decide…so I won’t 🙂
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
Thanks Donna I really appreciate your comments!
Heather Eure says
Yes! Karen, you’ve woven together a beautiful poem. It shines.
Elizabeth Marshall says
Great day this is lovely.
Love EVERY line.
Marcy Terwilliger says
When the Proud Die
A giant tree fell
In a forest of green
Four hundred years old
If you count her rings.
Lightening, storms, great
Winds came by,
Tree stood their force
She had pride.
Others collapsed,
Redwood stood strong
What took her life
That fate of a day?
Deep down inside her
Hidden away
Elements of the Redwood
Died
Collapsed.
Attack within
Insects, termites, devoured
Her flesh.
Souls like us,
Just like this tree
Should find the one on
The barren hill,
Called Calvary.
One older than time
Covers all our mistakes
Yours and mine,
Of past and future.
Rest assured this tree
Will never fall.
God is good to one and all.
Heather Eure says
A tree from the root of Jesse. Thank you, Marcy.
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
This is really nice, Marcy. Felt like I was reading a wonderful story, and of course, I was. Loved the rhythm of the words, and the tie-in to Calvary.
Elizabeth Marshall says
Karen, simply beautiful.
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
Thanks for your comments, Elizabeth.
Elizabeth Marshall says
Grand Dame
Without pretense
Or ostentatious show
Covered in a shield
Of thick and rugged skin
Crustier than three-week old bread
She stands
Rooted in composting
Blend of rich black soil and lily white sand
Rains down her fruit upon this
Borrowed land
While we argue about where to place the emphasis
Which syllable and which a, short or long
when we call her name
and all the while
her story
told, soft and low
sweet chariot
whispered
By each ring
She, a quiet orator
holding tight to secrets so circuitously
about this beloved place
while rodents store her fruit
and Southerns, nuts
for pie
and I take note,
and watch
Quiet secret keeper
passing on her gifts
How to hold on tight to story
and a life
and never, ever tell
while I take notes
and prepare
to mop up
Spilled secrets mixed with
Flour on my floor
Karen Mae Zoccoli says
Elizabeth – I love your title, and feel of this, especially the lines:
“Crustier than three-week old bread”, and
“How to hold on tight to story
and a life
and never, ever tell”
….really enjoyed reading this!