Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero: a Pantry of Prose, #4 ~ From the Point of View of Trees

The other day, a friend on Instagram posted a picture of a flower, and asked if anyone thought that it could be possible to claim the bloom as a writing buddy. I thought, half-jokingly, Some of my best friends are potted in my terrace garden. Aloud, I typed, “My entire garden is [my writing buddy]. They are fantastic listeners!”

When I started wondering about a theme for this month’s Pantry of Prose, that exchange (and my slightly selfish desire to read tales narrated by plants) came to mind. So, my beloved Poets and Storytellers, for today’s prompt, I invite you to write a new short or essay or article (in 313 words or fewer), from the point of view of a tree.

As a secondary option, you have the choice of taking one of your old poems and turning it into a new short story (in 313 words or fewer).

If you can’t think of anything, feel free to use my photo (a tree with a heart-shaped scar carved into its bark) and/or the following quote, (from The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate—Discoveries from a Secret World, by Peter Wohlleben) as inspiration: “without bark [a] tree cannot transport sugar from its leaves to its roots. As the roots starve, they shut down their pumping mechanisms, and because water no longer flows through the trunk up to the crown, the whole tree dries out”

 

Please let us know which option you’ve chosen to story-tell.   

This prompt will remain open until Tuesday. Only one entry per participant. Visit other storytellers. Delight in the words of trees. 

A wee note in red (for visitors and veterans): I adore poetry, but the Pantry of Prose is for prose (meaning, short stories, essays, articles, slice of life). So, with my deepest apologies, links to poems will be deleted. 

A late note: the topic for the next Midweek Motif is “Plastic Bags”.

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Tree(s)

Olive Trees with the Alpilles in the Background (1889), Vincent van Gogh

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Tree(s)

Tree(s): What was/is a tree to you?  
Is there one you miss or wish to meet someday?

Find a way to answer in a poem.

I illustrated this prompt with a selection of Vincent van Gogh's  paintings of trees. Feel free to write to paintings and photographs--but provide a link to your source if you do.

~

Trees and Undergrowth (1887), Vincent van Gogh

     Here's a poem you may know: 

Trees

BY JOYCE KILMER

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

                                        Source: Poetry (August 1913).

Pink peach trees ("Souvenir de Mauve"), Vincent van Gogh (1888)

The Banyan Tree by Rabindranath Tagore

O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,
have you forgotten the little chile, like the birds that have
nested in your branches and left you?
Do you not remember how he sat at the window and wondered at
the tangle of your roots and plunged underground?
The women would come to fill their jars in the pond, and your
huge black shadow would wriggle on the water like sleep struggling
to wake up.
Sunlight danced on the ripples like restless tiny shuttles
weaving golden tapestry.
Two ducks swam by the weedy margin above their shadows, and
the child would sit still and think.
He longed to be the wind and blow through your resting
branches, to be your shadow and lengthen with the day on the water,
to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig, and to float like
those ducks among the weeds and shadows.

Undergrowth with Two Figures (1890),  Vincent van Gogh

From: A Tree Telling of Orpheus by Denise Levertov

White dawn. Stillness.When the rippling began
I took it for sea-wind, coming to our valley with rumors of salt, of treeless horizons. But the white fog
didn't stir; the leaves of my brothers remained outstretched, unmoving.
Yet the rippling drew nearer – and then my own outermost branches began to tingle, almost as if
fire had been lit below them, too close, and their twig-tips were drying and curling.
Yet I was not afraid, only deeply alert.
I was the first to see him, for I grew out on the
pasture slope, beyond the forest.
. . . .   (Read the rest HERE at All Poetry.)

Cypresses (1889), Vincent van Gogh

For those who are new here:  

1. Post your Tree poem on your site, and then link it here.
2. If you use a picture include its link.  
3. Share only original and new work written for this challenge. 
4. Leave a comment here.
5. Visit and comment on our poems.

(Next week's Midweek Motif is One Day in a life ...)

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