The American Tree

An ode to the dry season

Introduction to “The American Tree”

This poem grew from many voices — raw feelings of fear, loss, and hope all tangled together.

Each word reflects real emotions shared by those who’ve faced darkness but still hold onto defiance, hope, and even excitement.

The twisted tree stands for resilience — bent by storms but rooted deep in hidden streams of strength.

Even in the darkest fields, life moves and grows, offering shade to those who endure.

This is our story — raw, unfinished, and alive.

Welcome to The American Tree.

— Geoff Talbot

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The American Tree

the twisted tree
bends
in the hot
wind,
as the devil’s
pitchfork
turns
over the dead
corn,
scare crowed
people watch,
sad,
forlorn,
terrified
by the shadows,
devastated
by the silence,
for the wind,
blows
quietly,
and the
once brave souls
have forgotten,
how to
moan.

even the land
no longer
groans.

this is
the reapers
work.

to mortify the souls
so the sickle
can cut
without
protest

and yet the tree remains
twisted?
yes.
dead?
no.
still anchored,
with deep roots
drinking from
hopeful
streams.

tendrils
so deep,
in places where
the scythe
can’t cut,
excitement lingers,
hope breathes
in those underground
streams,
that no one sees,
but old
trees
drink

defiance born
under the fields
of dead
corn,

wait,
don’t be
cast down,
nor dejected,
don’t forget,
your
crown,
for the reaper
is relaxing
his grip
upon
the hook,

his crooked grin,
his infantile ego,
his greatest sin,
he’s doesn’t know about the stream,
he can never win.

for the tree
is changing now,
this
ordinary
old
hunk
of
wood,
is spouting
forth,
with shoots
of good,
shade
for the
those
overwhelmed,
and stressed,
by the
hot winds,
of time.

oh my God, this rhyme, brings forth the…

fruit,
succulent
and full of juice,
for the
discouraged,
to drink
and feast,
and find
strength,
in their lament,
for the devil’s
sickle,
is too blunt
to cut the
tree,
and embarrassed
he
will
flee.

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