Arbor Day 2022 Poetry Contest
Watch our full Arbor Day Program Here!
1st An Arbor Day Poem by Trish Brisbois
2nd The Mother Tree by Karen Riley
3rd A Tree in Tualatin by Molly Skeen
3rd The Wedding Tree by Cathy Stockwell
(Here are all entrants displayed in order submitted)
An Arbor Day Poem
by Trish Brisbois
I count my days by you.
Bare winter branches
with soft nubs
forming into leaves yet to be and
new blossoms
that color my view ever so gently,
pink and white.
As you spread your spring splendor
the days meander on until
I suddenly realize
everywhere I turn
is a new shade of green;
chartreuse, lemon-lime, and emerald,
providing shelter from the warming sun.
My days gently blend into fall
with a brilliant explosion of color;
a trickle of golden yellow at first,
expanding into orange, burnt umber,
scarlet and burgundy red,
blazing into the sky.
Until the crispness of autumn,
with its blustery winds,
spreads your leaves
in swirling spirals
to cover the ground
beneath my feet.
And your bare winter branches
count my days once more.
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Ode to a Pine Tree
by Cathy Stockwell’s grandmother
A Pine Tree
Does not burst out into luscious pastels in springtime –
Neither does it flaunt flaming colors in a dramatic farewell to Summer –
Nor stand naked in the icy blasts of Winter –
But majestic, serene in everlasting beauty throughout the seasons,
Gives hope of the Future,
Courage to endure
And the promise of Eternal Life.
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Silent Witness
(A poem honoring the trees in Brown’s Ferry park, in Tualatin, OR; a sanctuary for my soul)
by Theresa Patton
A day.
Noise, and clutter, and familial banter.
A full house;
sticky fingers,
muddy paws
and sweaty socks.
A weary heart,
a starving soul;
a beautifully exhausting day.
The yearning for peace,
peace like a river;
And Serenity.
Searching for a place
with life untainted.
for heaven.
“It is well with my soul.”
My mantra.
Inhale.
I enter my sanctuary, my grove of solitude.
Where suddenly my world fades into the dance of the wind,
Twisting and twirling the emerald canopy.
Exhale.
The ballad of birds,
And the dripping moss,
These timeworn timbers,
anchored into the earth.
A sanctimonious sunrise,
among silent witnesses,
that have endured.
Despite the ages,
that lay heavy as the hearts and minds that have wandered beneath them.
Searching for a refuge,
a haven from the mundane,
the chaotic,
the debilitating.
Without judgment,
or threats,
without senseless chatter or
trite opinions
They’ve stood,
concealed my tears;
A Bethel for my reflections.
Their reticent welcome beckons me,
under towering torsos,
and fresh foliage.
Day after Day;
Year after year.
Their unwavering presence,
inviting a pause.
A remedy.
Oh my soul.
A Night.
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Tree Haiku
by Raelene Larson
Grandfather cedar
You cool Abernethy Creek
Kingfisher thanks you
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Phone Tree
by Willa MacArthur
I went to a camp where a mailbox was built into a tree.
Post office official and on the mail route.
Once I was part of a phone tree.
One person calling the next and so on down the line.
Trees communicate too, did you know?
The Wood Wide Web connects through their roots.
They send messages of warning.
Tree receivers far away, react in kind.
They inform each other.
News of blight, illness, insects.
Even when they can’t protect themselves.
Do you think they send other messages?
Or only tree facts?
I think they also share joy.
Sunlight filtered through limbs.
Feelings of growth after a long, cold winter.
Tales of new life nesting in their branches.
The forest is alive.
They are talking to us too.
Trying to get our attention.
Perhaps the most we’ll ever hear is their laughter.
A soft breeze rippling through leaves on a windless day.
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The Wedding Tree
(Dedicated to the tree under which both my daughter and son were married)
by Cathy Stockwell
Beneath the spreading ironwood tree
The village parson stands.
In solemn tone he bids the groom
And bride to join their hands.
This tree, it is just one of many
Once brought from foreign lands
To populate a rich estate.
Today alone it stands.
This tree, its leafy arms embrace
A pair with hopes and dreams.
Beneath its boughs they take their vows
Their future yet unseen.
This tree - one hundred years or more -
Each storm has bravely weathered.
May this couple now beneath its boughs
Withstand their storms together.
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Ad in March Tualatin Life created by Michael Antonelli. Includes judges Loyce Martinazzi, Cindy Dyson and Tom Swearingen along with our sponsor the Garden Corner. Click here for a larger version of this ad.
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Tree Rings
(Written for my daughter on the anniversary of her birth)
by Becca Hardgrave
Human hearts fleeting. Love enduring, eternal through generations.
Trees record history, hearts measured by love counted like the rings of a tree.
We watch children grow observing the passing of time in the somber, bittersweet way we
realize a forest has grown before we've noticed.
Mindfully we measure time, the volume of love counted like the rings of a tree. In youth, rings
are small, close together, hard to count and reflect on, the longer we live.
We plant trees in ceremony for
Love, loss
Shelter, hearth.
We each add to the rings of history.
How does one measure time if not in a ring of a tree?
Plenty of time I tell myself
Each adds to a shared human history
Our roots intertwine, we grow together
Creating a community, a forest.
We can live as a forest, some in the canopy some on the forest floor.
We can live as a forest farm neat and orderly.
There are seasons we burn. Fire brings new life, opportunities. Some only grow from flames.
Some fire-resistant.
Heartwood enduring as love within each of us.
Together we weather storms, shelter families and community.
Still, we grow, adding depth and richness to human experience.
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The Mother Tree
(Inspired by Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard)
by Karen Riley
Great forests give us the breath of life
And are sacrificed to be transformed
Into shelters and ships and manuscripts.
But we must keep our saws and axes
Away from the woodland heart.
Away from the Mother Tree
Who spreads her roots,
Who nourishes seedling and sapling,
Who gives us life as a parent to a child
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A Tree in Tualatin
by Molly Skeen
in Tualatin
a tree stands for the people
proud and welcoming
the taproot digs deep
stable, solid, and secure
anchoring the tree
shallow roots spread wide
slim tentacles reach outward
capture summer rain
the trunk, straight and tall
flexes in a heavy wind
steady and grounded
its branches reach out
growing up, down, and sideways
invite birds to nest
leaves point to the sun
absorbing its energy
sheltering the earth
a tree adds beauty
to a place with a river
in Tualatin
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Sunday on the Farm
by Alexa Byers
Grandma watched over me when I was young.
She loved nature and, in particular, the color green.
I often caught her admiring the dew-dampened fir trees and lawn
when the Oregon rain was done.
Grandma lived on a farm in the country, not far away.
When Mom and I visited her we helped her with chores.
In the fall we harvested apples from the soft ground
while the abundant branches above would sway.
Grandma’s apple tree waited for this time of year
when the fruit was ripe and too heavy for the branches to bear.
It fell to the ground, sometimes one by one; other times in unison.
Bees hummed happily over the fallen fruit while we carried on undaunted by fear.
Grandma taught me how to inspect the fruit.
We looked for shiny, firm specimens, not too bruised nor wormy.
When our aprons and buckets brimmed over we returned to the house
with our carefully chosen loot.
Grandma and us gleefully emptied our collections into the kitchen sink.
Myriad colorful apples bobbled around weightless in the pool of cold, spring water.
The women were adept at peeling, coring and slicing.
As I struggled to mimic the elders’ way of peeling an apple into one, long, springy spiral, Mom shot me a knowing wink.
Grandma kept the procession moving with the three of us
improving our skills and speed over time.
When enough apple bits were amassed, we knew that baking would ensue.
Freshly baked apple pie would be sublime!
Grandma carefully added heaps of sugar, a bit of cinnamon and a scant
amount of flour to the bite-sized fruit.
With a large wooden spoon she folded the mixture a few times to blend it
while I remained astute.
Grandma turned the mess into two large pie pans lined with homemade dough.
The filling was then carefully topped with a criss-cross of dough strips
and placed on racks in a fire-stoked oven;
one on top and one below.
Grandma and Mom cleaned up the messy kitchen
while I sat down with a tin of broken crayons to color my next creation.
Soon the farmhouse air filled with a warm cozy aroma of sizzling apple pie.
I could barely contain my jubilation!
Grandma brought out her special dessert plates and served the warm apple pie alamode.
I felt like a grownup as she topped off my glass of milk with hot coffee.
Later as Mom and I drove down the gravely road
I gazed back at the majestic fruit tree just to see one more round, shiny apple quietly release toward the earth.
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A Tree Grows in Tualatin
by Robin L. Potter
In a quiet town nestled along a winding river
The streets are lined with trees whose leaves seem to quiver
What sweet gentle peace they deliver
As the cool frosty mornings still make us shiver
These grand green towers give creatures such delight
Their canopies spread out with shadow and light
The leaves protecting us from the rain’s might
Ever present with their magnificent height
The shade and beauty they provide all summer long
Nurturing animals in their outstretched arms so strong
The birds in the branches sing out their joyful song
Making us feel as if we truly belong
Autumn draws nigh as the leaves begin to fall
After a colorful show, they stand empty and tall
The cool grey sky is a sign of winters call
There seems to be no end to the rain at all
In the next season their presence seems to have receded
Winter’s strong winds rage and are never depleted
Some great green monuments are defeated
With the calm of spring and each new Arbor Day
The circle is finally completed
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I Am A Tall One
by Kevin Mark Eberhart
I Am a soaring Tall One
Reaching for the sun
My mission is to thrive
To Be -- beautiful and alive
Pleasing your eye with peaceful green
Value added to any scene
Most people just pass me by
Some give me hugs, and tell me "hi"
There are those who would cut me down
- without any good reason
Knock my splendor to the ground
- in a sad kind of treason
They close their hearts to gifts I share
Like calmness, shade and healthy air
Can you see my soul or care for me?
Have a joyful friendship with a tree?
Hoping I can weather every strong storm
So that you can always admire my form
Growing, living out long centuries
That's a grand miracle of some of us trees
We have long been here, fulfilling your needs
Can you give back to us, planting our seeds?
Look around at our lushness in this great land
Will you be our champion and truly understand -
How important trees are to this place, Oregon?
I enjoy our time together, a bonding has begun
So please visit again, as it's always a win
To see my true friends from fair Tualatin
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