Pic & Poem of the Week: June 19, 2016

Posted byChaplainmikePosted inPhotos, Poetry or Lyrics
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Summer Tree

Pic & Poem of the Week
June 19, 2016

For your pleasure and contemplation, I am posting an original photograph and a corresponding poem each week on Sundays. May these offerings help lead us to a deeper place of rest on the Lord’s Day.

Click on the picture for a larger image.

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The Sound of Trees

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.

Robert Frost
Mountain Interval

11 thoughts on “Pic & Poem of the Week: June 19, 2016”

  1. Charles,
    A nice critique. Makes me feel like I’m back in poetry workshop. That’s a good feeling.

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  5. I agree, the first one, Robert. “Huge” spreads out in a way “thick” doesn’t. Very fine poem.

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  6. Into the woods my Master went,
    Clean forspent, forspent,
    Into the woods my Master came,
    Forspent with love and shame.
    But the olives they were not blind to Him.
    The little grey leaves were kind to Him,
    The thorn tree had a mind to Him,
    When into the woods He came.

    Out of the woods my Master came
    And he was well content;
    Out of the woods my Master came,
    Content with death and shame.
    When death and shame would woo Him last,
    From under the trees they drew Him last,
    ’Twas on a tree they slew Him—last
    When out of the woods He came.

    Sydney Lanier, 1880

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  7. ” 21 . . creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. 22 We know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until the present time.”
    (from Romans, Chapter 8)

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  8. If we could still hear the sounds of the living tree that one day, stripped of its life and stained with blood, would bear its Creator’s body in agony and in death, what sounds might we hear ?

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  9. First one, please, Robert. Huge echoes hundreds and acts as fulcrum for holds with enough distance to avoid cute alliteration. Thick oak has an abrupt staccato that is out of place with the massive solidity of the tree, and huge is bigger than thick. Nice thought, nice poem.

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