Poetry of Love, Resistance, & Solidarity

128. Icestorm

old elm we named you the Sentinel Tree

high upon the Flint Hills peak

stood winter winds and summers bleak

that did not rip your branches free

there came last night an icy spit

that laid a burden too great to bear

of sculptured glass and crystal glare

and weighted you until you split

the coyote wails of your demise

by sorrow moon and faint starlight

his refuge friend in black of night

no longer there at this sunrise

my young father once sat in view

full of fire and fresh romance

and asked his bride to take a chance

on time and trees that shelter you

— William J. Karnowski

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Comments on: "128. Icestorm" (2)

  1. bookantics said:

    Thank you for the lovely stitches that connect that most visible Flint Hills vision to its cold demise and linked it to your father’s romantic fire that inevitably brought you to this time and poem.

  2. Rick Nichols said:

    I certainly appreciate the rhyming in this poem being something of a purist, and I am particularly smitten with poems involving trees. An excellent effort on the author’s part.

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