Pruning Trees

Mangled forms
like desperate hands,
like malformed people,
like pleas for help.
Reaching skywards
in a feeble attempt
to pluck down the clouds
and cover their nakedness.
We drive past these
once-trees,
averting our eyes
from their once-leaves,
and I long
for once-beauty,
once-freedom
to be…
We’ve clothed this
once-breathing planet
in cement
and tarmac
- a grey/brown straightjacket
which stunts growth,
twists new green limbs…
We insist at all times
on order-
won’t have any
expressionist,
free-moving boughs
dancing and swaying
in the breeze!!

- London, 2000