Who Owns the Forest

He told me it’s his and showed me in print

The title, signed, with a golden seal’s glint.

Then a gust tore the paper away from his hand.

It fluttered, a leaf on the wind, to land

On the soft forest floor, where it nourished the trees

And surrendered its words to the voice of the breeze.

“Who owns the forest?” I asked of the sky.

“All and none,” came a whispered reply.

 

The idea for this poem came when I was watching a video that mentioned someone owning a forest. While I realize this probably isn't all that uncommon, it struck me as odd. I know some may not agree with this way of thinking, but I have trouble seeing a forest as simply property to own, with all of its life and complex, interconnected processes that defy and surpass our control. Its cycles contribute to the lives of all - human, animal, plant - so all have a stake in its continued thriving, and none can stake an individual claim.

Keep Writing

I struggle to identify

A theme that’s new, untried, and unexpected.

I wonder if my writing

Has now exhausted all my heart’s collected.

Should this be so, I’d pause to cry

But then begin again to pen a rhyme,

For here my mind keeps fighting

To understand my place in space and time.

 

The words have been coming somewhat slowly recently, as I've been trying to write poems. When this happens, I sometimes wonder if I've just run out of ideas, or run out of whatever creative writing ability I had before. Buy eventually I realize that, even if that were the case, I would still need to keep trying, because this has become one of the ways I process things - one of the ways I try to understand my place in all that happens.