I
On a June day
, half a life ago
a toddler,
uncertain limbed
but chin set hard,
trunk angled
against gravity,
wobbled up Dark Lane
toward the crest
of Roost Hill
in his urchin eyes,
that day
the loftiest of summits.
At the top, he knew,
the grown-ups
would point to the Oak,
old as England
whose ancient roots delved
even to a time before time.
Crooked, crouched,
the north face
bald
, withered antler branches
gale lashed,
trunk lightning gashed
blind to brook
, covert and spinney
to meadow
and wandering byway
in the valley below.
The south, animate still
a wisp of green
recalling the vigour
now guarded fast
in the heartwood’s memory
by rings of sap
which once awoke each March.
Gone now
the exultant springtime surge
of the sapling time
, crawling noe
barely inching toward the sun.
The Oak; old Needwood-bred
coppiced by pagan,
sequestered by monk
a holy plot for the living
to rest the dead awhile
and take sustenance
at the mid-point
between deathbed and grave.
Undressed by yeoman
consecrated in Mundy’s lament
lone refugee
from the encloser’s axe
and the lust for timber
of an empire beyond the sea.
The lad thought little of this
nor cared greatly.
To him, insight would dawn only
as his own vitality, by degrees, diminished
his errant dash for fortune slowed
and dimly remembered moments
anchors
, came back into focus.
II
Home from the world
the man returns
his own boy,
punching clouds
astride his shoulders
to the Gospel Oak
, abiding still
smaller, it seems
half erased
from men’s knowledge
but steady, enduring.
Tears well unbidden
though he does not grieve
for lost renown
but weeps at the stark, solitary beauty
and the still march through time
of history’s quiet sentinel
and marvels at his place beside it.
(Image: History and Antiquities of the Town and Neighbourhood of Uttoxeter | Francis Redfern | 1886)
Beautiful, Julian. Such a wonderful panoply of phrases. Thank you.
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How kind, Jen. Thank you.
It’s a gnarled, battered old tree but I love it.
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Julian,
This moved my soul!!
So happy to read such an inspiring and vivid work.
Dajena 🙂
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Thank you so very much, Dajena. I’m thrilled that you were moved.
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I was scared that the poem would end, revealing the veteran lost. I am so glad it is still there. A suitable paean, Julian.
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Tree very much alive, Miles. 900 years and still going strong.
I’ll post a photo on Twitter later.
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Thanks Julian – I was searching for a photo of the tree on the internet after reading your poem. I’d love to see one.
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Go to Google maps and look for the junction of Thorney Lanes and Dark Lane, Newborough, Staffs.
There you will find Noah’s Ark Farm. The oak is in the front garden. You can’t miss it.
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found it. what an amazing tree to have in your garden.
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Glad to have found this site, some fine writing here…
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Thank you!
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Your words can express things that trigger the mind to move forward, to wonder and most of all to simply enjoy the gift of an artist. Very much enjoyed the gospel of the oak.
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Thank you, and apologies for my tardiness in replying.
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Fantastic. Hearts of oak.
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😊
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