Describe a tree, right now

Le tilleul esseulé se dressait contre l'horizon pourpre, noble campanile végétal. Les derniers feux du soleil, qui avait déjà depuis longtemps sombré, détouraient la myriade de petites feuilles, et la douce brise de fin de printemps les agitaient paresseusement. L'air s'emplissait de senteurs capiteuses, et le doux bruissement des feuilles sonnaient comme un carillon à mes oreilles, m'emplissant l'esprit d'un bien-être aussi simple que profond : c'était une belle soirée.

The tree stood like the Eiffel Tower, and in a similar fashion, it desperately deffend itself against a swarm of black creatures. Despite getting gang banged by ants, the coconut tree shone glorious in its rotten verticality, for the whole FEMA camp to behold. And I have to remark, that bitch was HUGE, so huge that when I saw it for first time after that rave party, I said "whoa Nelly, 'tsa big ass tree, ain't it?"

I clicked the brown cartridge into my cranial console.
"Raise your right hand to boot: 'Ancient Nature: Trees"
I raised my right hand and relaxed into a sleep upon which I was greeted with a psychedelic user interface. Colours of green, red and yellow waved against a catalog of trees. Oaks, birches and even tropical ones. I chose the Maple, a tree of my country that once took place on our flag. A virtual area consisting of 20 by 20 metres of space accumulated before me. Green grass and other visual effects such as wind and sprites of birds. Then, in 100x speed I watched as a Maple began to grow before my eyes. From a sprout to a full grown tree.

Baguette/10

I consider a tree.

I can look on it as a picture: stiff column in a shock of light, or splash of green shot with the delicate blue and silver of the background.

I can perceive it as movement: flowing veins on clinging, pressing pith, suck of the roots, breathing of the leaves, ceaseless commerce with earth and air—and the obscure growth itself.

I can classify it in a species and study it as a type in its structure and mode of life.

I can subdue its actual presence and form so sternly that I recognise it only as an expression of law — of the laws in accordance with which a constant opposition of forces is continually adjusted, or of those in accordance with which the component substances mingle and separate.

I can dissipate it and perpetuate it in number, in pure numerical relation.

In all this the tree remains my object, occupies space and time, and has its nature and constitution.

It can, however, also come about, if I have both will and grace, that in considering the tree I become bound up in relation to it. The tree is now no longer It. I have been seized by the power of exclusiveness.

To effect this it is not necessary for me to give up any of the ways in which I consider the tree. There is nothing from which I would have to turn my eyes away in order to see, and no knowledge that I would have to forget. Rather is everything, picture and movement, species and type, law and number, indivisibly united in this event.

Everything belonging to the tree is in this: its form and structure, its colours and chemical composition, its intercourse with the elements and with the stars, are all present in a single whole.

The tree is no impression, no play of my imagination, no value depending on my mood; but it is bodied over against me and has to do with me, as I with it — only in a different way.

Let no attempt be made to sap the strength from the meaning of the relation: relation is mutual.

A palm tree with wide ferns stood basking in the warm Florida heat.

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

If you looked at the leaves you would think it came from a fern, but no, this plant decided it needed bark on its root instead of green pith. Definitely a tree that thought highly of itself and demanded the best

*Originally posted in the wrong Thead, added this note to get around duplicated restrictions

I like it

Woof
Wood

stiff and army, straight like me
i came upon a single tree
summer splotch still on its bark
a thing alone in misty park
green freckles floating in gray air
unbunned not like my round gray hair
cow's bark backpack handle-hook
no knots and not a nothing nook
open ankles candle-pink
a bidden sense of pixel-wink
white flares or rays or maybe tears
thin hints about the nothing there
that bastes beyond the flat green gray
of Artificial Park in May

"Do trees grow as aging?" I asked. "I age, as growing trees do."

Prove its a tree

Brown cylinder stuck in ground with smaller cylinders going horizontally across it. With feathered creeps crawling in it. Singing in long whistles. Green plants cover it's top, sprouting from it's cylinders. Lovely.

I am so very tired. They hanged yet another pickaninny from my branches this afternoon. I understand my job is important but more than three a week leaves me exhausted. I could sleep like a log but I know I need to be ready for the next nigger who causes trouble. Such is my life.

my favorite so far

You first.

slow motion explosion

The bushy wooden phallus of nature.

The summer rain dropped in rivulets down the aged tree. Though slanted, it stood before the test of time and the weather and remained in an ever growing phase. It was the power of nature eternal.

A birch stood, surrounded by other birches. It was a birch forest.

Brown and sticky

The birch tree in winter
Leaning over the secret pool
Is Narcissus in love
With the slight white branches
The slim trunk
In the dark glass;
But
Spring coming on
Is afraid
And scarfs the white limbs
In green

The ground's erect penis jutting up and cumming leaves.

Bark of tree I love thee. If I touch you would you shiver?
Hole in tree, made for me? Here my seed deliver.

Penis free inside tree, semen flowing, like a river.
Relief for me, empty quiver.

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It was not a particularly particular tree; a tree, like any other tree. A tree for the trees. You certainly would not see this tree for any other trees. A good tree, a sturdy tree, worthy enough if not recognized. The kind of tree you could depend on, if you only knew to depend on it. It was upon this tree that I crouched down and leaned against as I bore my ass and shat.

A tree? No trees left. Urbanites cut them all down. Unless concrete prisons count as trees. Then I've got lots in view.

Through the skies pierce the giant
Roots dig deep to earth compliant
Evergreen canopy a crown of majesty
Enter the woodsman's axe so shiny

A tree? A telegraph pole to be.

When flame has swept his friends away
The cork soaks up their ash with dismay

That nigga was tall as fuck and brown but it didn move it just stood there mad doggin me. I axed it "yo nigga where u from break yo self" an that nigga jus stood there so I pulled out my gat an blast that nigga. Real talk im a str8 thug

In the playground where I used to spend my childhood days there was a large tree at the back with a strong core. It had fat branches that you could climb on. Used to meet all kinds of kids there and play with each other.

Brown as a pharoah,
leaves like benjamins,
roots like muh dick
cut it and see the bling rims
they thrive in tha ghetto away from cracka ass tree surgeons
they wuz used for errything in the past
A tree is a brotha

Beautiful

My father knew it as did his and so on,
So long atient friend, in my days gone,
I haven't children anyway.

This is honestly such an epic thread, it really had me lolling. I’m gonna bookmark it to show to my girlfriend later. Cheers!

it's presence is overbearing and makes me nauseous

A poem earth writes into heaven

dumb life form who can't even move around, could be dead.

It's a small tree, it's top illuminated by a yellow street lamp that almost leans into it. It's not impressive at all. It doesn't give us anything, no shadow, no fruit. It just is there because, i presume, some retarded city planner thought this street needs something green and cheap. Although the plant is probably surrounded by piles of dogshit, it won't grow any larger. I've seen that tree in my visual periphery for over 10 years, yet I didn't direct my attention to it once - it's that unimpressive. An old couple is walking under the tree now. They didn't seem to care either. The tree trunk is colored white, probably against the heat or insects or some diseases. It doesn't look like it would survive on its own, without human intervention. Its leaves are small and light green. At least its not one of the even shittier trees on other side of the street. These fuckers don't have any leaves until June. God fucking damn it. By October they will have lost them again. A ridiculous excuse for a tree, fuck. Anyway, back to the small tree. It's top barely covers the narrow sidewalk below it, its branches all point weirdly to the top, like it's cosplaying some bush or something. The entire trunk has no branches at all. You couldn't even hang a person on it, it's that weak. It doesn't shield the nearby windows from creeps like me who stare for minutes outside to write an impression of it. I have no idea what trees are in the next street, but they are much better. When they bloom in the spring, it's really beautiful.

That's it.

tall bush

>how i think

>how i want to think
>

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