This is just poetry. It won't save you, but it may locate you so that a rescue party can be sent out. — Dean Blehert

Friday, June 19, 2009


In a new development, remaining trees
are in shock, still numb to the loss
of their forest, leaving acres of red mud,
kindling and new houses.

In a few years they recover, forgive,
even (as slaves become loyal retainers
or wild animals become pets) grow to love
their new Lanes, Courts and Places, quick flit
of children, men with mowers, sunny lawns
strewn with acorns, needles and leaves
over which they arch dutifully,
good old trees,

but sometimes in a cold shock of memory
they shiver.

[Note: And they treat the newcomers, for example, impotent decorative Braddock pear trees, with disdain.]

Dean Blehert
Blogs: (short poems) (essays and longer poems)
New book (Deanotations, Volume 1) available at

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