Yew

Gold cherry

By onemorething

Sat, 27 Nov 2021
  • 1915 reads
13 comments
 

Quick little poem written for National Tree Week on Twitter. I might try one a day.

 

A Yew could devour a man

in its house of bones,

swallow him in a dream

beneath its branches.

Yet it will give an aril

to a waxwing, one seed

for tomorrow, a new tribe,

to unburn, uncut, 

to unknow. 

 
 

Image is from here: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ancient_Yew_tree,_St_Andrews_Churchyard_(geograph_5305743).jpg

 

Certificate U
Poem
Unclassified

Comments

Submitted by marandina on

Soulful, beautiful.

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thank you! Need to rewrite it into here because I cut and pasted it from Twitter and it won't format properly. Glad you liked it though. :)

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

Oh - looking forward to more of these! Yews are so beautiful aren't they?

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Oh good, I like having a little project. Yes, love Yews, magically dark trees. :)

 

Submitted by rjnewlyn on

This is our Facebook and Twitter Pick of the Day! Please share/retweet if you like it. 

 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks very much! Chuffed.

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

To unknow, that's a great way to finish :0)

am sure have mentioned before, there is a yew planted on the edge of the public garden here, I thought randomly, but read that it might be there that they burned women they called witches. The last bit of your poem made me think of yews being a salve, a goodness of growing things after the wickedness we do each other. I hope you write one a day :0) Please include beech trees!

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks Di! I'm sure there will be a Beech! Yes, you might have mentioned the Yew before. And they're certainly a witchy tree - in the cauldron in Macbeth, only to be cut during a lunar eclipse though - wish I'd thought of that last week... And they have some darker superstitions - like if you sleep under one, you'll die - could be due to their toxicity, I suppose or that nothing much grows under their shade. A salve - yes, perhaps, I was sort of thinking in that direction, in their own right - I was thinking about their one seed resting on the spread of waxwing or how they root themselves new life when their branches touch the ground...in the absence of us. If that makes sense...it probably doesn't! Thanks for reading it. x

 

Submitted by Tom Brown on

Really spoke to me . .. ."one seed", like mustardseed.

Keep well! Tom

 

Submitted by onemorething on

I'm really glad you liked it. Yes, there's something special about their one seed in each aril. Hope you're keeping well too. :)

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Rachel,

you know with my love of trees I couldn't resist this poem. A very mysterious tree that holds so many folklore tales. Your poem nicely captures its essence. I have a feeling it's a protected tree and cannot be cut down, though I'm not sure...hope my feeling is correct though.

You don't need to change a word, it's great as it is.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Jane Hyphen on

One of those pieces which had the rare effect of making me feel as if I was being squeezed while reading but in a good way. It's divine.

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Wow, thanks so much Jane, am very happy you enjoyed it! I love to hug trees so it's nice if they give a squeeze back! :)