your view, your words-a picture prompt

I stand in darkness
on the edge of the forest,
viewing life from a distance,
hiding in the shadow
cast by the great tree.
The bright light
beyond the tree line
burns my eyes,
but still I stare,
longing to cross
the three board fence
to step out,
leave the shadow world behind,
and embrace the color
of living.

Dark umbrella
filters sound,
quiets the summer day,
breath caught,
mid-sigh,
as aloft we laugh,
wonder at the braying colt
lingering nearby.
Leaning on split bark,
acrobats with apples
mid-chew,
watching our day
fade to black.

labrinyth lumbers
scratches gather brillance
silky wings unfurled

Nostalgia is framed,
cozy in mind's eye.
The future is tamed,
rosy its cast die.

Our handiwork trite,
and surely won't last.
Their builds are so slight,
their by times now passed.

Yet deeper hints lie,
in each loved event.
Not-so-private eye:
the frame was what meant.

My cell,
made from trees.
Give me a home.
I can never return on knees.
Forgive what I said.
I never meant to yell.
I was just angry,
I have no terms of hell.

poem by Owl B. Amunkeesunkel

There's an owl in that there barn
yes there is
hoooo'll do good by me yes
yes he will
he'll bring me rats and flowers,
and feather me with kisses
There's an owl in that there barn
yes there is.

I've watched this house, I've watched it grow
I've watched the children come and go.
I've seen summers and I've seen snow
I've been a part of Cupid's bow.

I climb and reach, they climb and fall
to lie at my feet, one and all
under my roots in nighttime pall
they whisper replies when I call.

The mole and mouse see honor there
the lynx and fox offer their hair
both owl and bat soften the air
all are diligent in their care.

Fear not though days and night times end
around us all so time will wend
til once again a seed unbend
bring hearts and souls to join and mend.

"...Poems are made by fools like me
but only God can make a tree."
----Joyce Kilmer, Trees
That was what popped immediately into mind, but I'll try....


coming home from school
I stop to climb the old gnarled tree that
has stood regally on our land
before PawPaw was a child like me

a momentary reprieve
before dropping shoes and books and
going 'bunny-hoot' in the dirt
chancing MamMaw's austere looks

doing chores like Daddy did
and generations before he although
Mom despairs of farm life's hold on
a hoydenish girl like me