Trees fighting

Did you know that trees fight too?

They swing their branches with wind, it’s true.

The thicker the branch, the better the result,

Also when one is already an adult

And the other one just a wee tiny sapling,

Makes for an uneven bout of tree grappling.

I guess wind for trees is like sports,

Resulting in punches and kicks of sorts.

Give a good gale to a forest of pines,

Like fans of two teams in a bar’s confines.

I guess you could call it wind hooliganism.

A fault in almost every single macro organism,

Getting excited at things and then swinging,

Trees or people, it leaves their tops ringing.



If you have a natural wizard of steel,

It’s called an Andruid, that’s what I feel.

It has an octacore of quantum processors.

With its wisdom acting like the Progressors.

Stopping overpopulation, tweaking some genes,

Healing the noxious growths on peas and beans.

Fusing mice with nanobots so they eat CO2.

Balancing out the stuff spewed out by me and you.

Installing sprinklers onto trees that quench all the forest fires.

Hover boosting berry plants to make some tasty fliers.

Rigging teleporting pads on every single tree,

Jump from Germany to Chad, or over any sea.

Biodiversity is its main goal,

Gene technology in its soul.

Sand dune surfing

I like to think that sand dunes are snakes.

Their mission in life is to find blue lakes.

The sun doesn’t like them, it makes them hide,

The wind helps them move with their long stride.

All of the dunes in Sahara and Gobi

Travel to the sea to find them a new adobe.

The mountains work with the sun on this one,

Block their path, as for them it’s fun.

The dunes haven’t lost their hope, not yet,

Hopelessness is not a big threat.

They like the wind as it tickles their backs,

And at night they party to the max.

They also like it you surf down the sides,

You tickle them pink with each of your slides.

Some of the weak ones almost lost their hope,

But small humans sliding stopped their mope.

So, if you want to help an ancient creature,

Just find a sand surfing place and a teacher.

Fantastic plants

I read a book on fantastic plants,

Like the currant bush that grows hot pants,

If you have one on your yard,

You can design your business card.

Natural hot pants, fresh from the print,

Depending on the soil, a different tint.

The was also one type of kelp,

Who’s really good at offering help.

If you’re drowning and they grow there,

They will tell you to breathe some air.

The help’s not useful, but keeps on coming,

When you’re dead they’ll try to wake you by humming.

The best thing, though is the owlifying tree,

It makes hooting noises and shapes you see,

Shapes of an owl so you’d think they are real,

When actually they are an illusionary deal.

It’s some sort of conspiracy of nature,

To make people think that there’s such a creature

That can turn its head around and speaks with a “Hooo!”

Sounds a bit silly, but people think it’s true.

The Mythical Lynx

I had heard of the Mythical Lynx.

And read some after clicking some links.

It’s six feet tall when it stands upright,

Playing basketball wouldn’t be a big fight.

It looks like a lynx but sits like a man,

On a big rock just like the Thinker can.

Just like a lynx, big ears and paws,

Listening close to the leaves and the caws.

It’s face is a bit more like that of a human,

Not as cat-like, imagine it if you can.

I saw it sitting as I looked outside,

From the car window, it didn’t hide.

It just sat there on the soft heather,

Maybe it was thinking a poem to the weather.

Telling it to rain or to keep on shining,

Or telling the birches to keep on pining.

As I looked it turned its head,

Right at me and then stopped dead.

Kept on looking till I was out of sight,

My heart was leaping from the left to the right.

I had the feeling, because our eyes met,

It knows where I am and a course is set.

It will find me if it has any reason,

To give me praise or punish my treason.

The Mythical Lynx with its power so great,

The only thing I can do just now is wait.

Flannel up and wait for me!

Flannel up and come with me!

Was not the call to get some tea.

It’s when the time has come to hack

With axes of a lumberjack.

When trees are creeping close to you

You blow your whistle, wooden, blue,

The flannel faction hears the call,

Take their axes, suspenders, all,

Flounce their way to your distress,

Chop and hack, and I confess,

The trees that just now gave a spook,

Stand as much chance against a nuke.

They become just firewood,

The first time they can do some good.

In our world of wicked timber,

Some heroes so quick and limber,

Help you when you need a hand

The flannel heroes of our land.

With this call they come, you see:

“Flannel up and come with me!”

St. Kilda

I’m a dendrophobe and I have it rough.

Finland’s not the place if seeing trees is tough.

A very small birch is enough to make me jump,

A great big pine and my heart ceases to pump.

If it’s bonsai, they just make me distressed,

Wunderbaums are fine, if not for the zest.

I need to find a place that has no woods,

But still has wind and rain and such earthly goods.

I could choose Sahara, but it’s too dry,

Everest would be good but it’s too high.

Then I heard of Kilda, a nice Scottish isle,

It’s very windy, not a tree for a mile.

They even say that sheep learned to fly,

The wind gave them wings and a ride to the sky.

St. Kilda sounds like the bestest place for me

Sheep were blown off and not a single tree.