Everything Miz Meliz, Poems

That Funky Tree



There is a palm tree

in the yard

across the street

from my house.

It’s one of those

strange old trees

with lots of layers

on it’s trunk

that sways in the wind.

The trunk of that tree

is brown and tan and black and gray

and it’s texture looks rough to the touch.

The other day

while I was getting in the shower

something caught my attention.

I was glancing out the bathroom window

and even through the glass and steam and water,

I could still see it.

It was that funky tree

across the street

and it encapsulated me.

As I glanced in its direction,

I noticed something unusual.

I had that feeling

that someone

was watching me

from that strange old funky tree.

For a moment it

looked like a woman

sitting on the roof

of the house

across the street.

She was sitting cross-legged,

like a yogi.

She posed tall,

back erect,

her head lifted,

body straight.

Her long arms were wrapped

about her legs

draping over alternate knees.

She was focussing

on something.

She was focused

on me!

She was watching me

from that funky tree.

Her long graying green hair

was wildly waving in the air.

Her body was still,

perfectly still,

as she sat there

watching me,

sizing me up,

studying me

from that funky tree.

I couldn’t stop looking that way.

I wanted to know what she had to say.

I tried to forget about it.

I finished my shower,

I got dressed.

Then entranced,

I had to look again.

I had to see what was happening

to the funky tree

that I could see

through my bathroom window

that is in the yard

of the house

across the street.

That weird old thing!

No longer a woman.

No, she was gone.

Not a tree either.

That tree has somehow morphed

into a new shape,

a new being.

I thought I saw a boy at first.

But it was a boy and a girl

in an embrace.

They were hugging and kissing,

their limbs interlaced.

Right there on top of the roof

of the house across the street,

right where that palm tree used to be!

What were they doing there

living life on the edge?

They had not a care in the world.

They were not aware of me at all

as I stared I watching them

sizing them up

studying them

right there

on that funky tree.

Then suddenly

my concentration broke.

I took a breath

as my mind awoke.

I needed to stop obsessing.

I promised myself

I would not look at it again.

Not even a glance,

I would not take that chance.

I was afraid of

what I might see

next time I look

at that funky tree.

Time passed

and seasons changed.

A new day dawned

as time elapsed.

I just happened

to look out the window

of my bathroom

at the house

across the street.

I could not help myself

at the tree, I glanced.

It was something new,

the colors were a pretty hue.

They were lighter shades

of brown

and gray and blue.

Then I saw him.

He was a wee lad.

He couldn’t be more than four or five.

There was a little boy peeking out

from behind it.

He was behind that funky tree

on the roof

of the house

across the street

playing peek-a-boo with me.

My thoughts raced,

“Hold on!  Don’t fall,”

as I watched him

grasping so gingerly

to the bright green leaves

of the funky tree.

He was laughing and giggling joyfully,

just looking around

seeing what he could see.

He climbed and dangled

from high atop

the old gray palm.

Playing a game of “I Spy,”


he took notice of me

looking at him,

through the window

of my bathroom,

watching him

sizing him up

studying him.

He laughed and grinned

as he ducked behind his fortress

and once again was hidden

behind that strange old tree.

He disappeared

from my view

it’s true.

He was so wise

under the guise

of that funky tree.

I said aloud,

“Go on little guy,

don’t worry why,

Go on and play,

I’ll see you again someday.”

A new day arrived

and I contrived

I would no longer be caught

in a web of thought.

That funky old tree

hasn’t any hold on me.

I would no longer ponder

over and over

about what was taking place

on the roof of the house

across the street.

Why not take a look

and see what I can see?

What could be happening

with that old palm tree?

Soft breezes blow

the faded golden branches

in the sun’s sweet glow.

Something called my name

as I peered through

the window pane,

I was drawn to the image

across the lane.

Ah, it is a woman again!

A lovely young lady,

holding her baby.

For a moment I consider

this apparition to be. . .

The Madonna and Child!

She could be Mother Earth

holding Baby Time!

Either way,

the vision is fine,

and the privilege is mine!

The transcendent femme

was holding him

tenderly in her arms

on the roof of the house

across the street,

however miraculously

that could be!

The babe was nursing,

suckling and thriving,

while living on the branches

of The Tree of Life.

The funky, strange, old tree

in the yard

of the house

across the street!

They appeared warm and free.

She smiled at him lovingly

as the wind blew through

her soft shiny hair.

The sun shone on her face

and she tightened her embrace.

They were alone in their bliss,

and I saw her don a kiss

on the head of her cherubim.

How could I be so incredibly proud?

They were not in the least

interested in me

as I uttered aloud,

“Go in peace, my angels,

Go in peace.”

In my heart they rest,

forever basking

in their timeless love

forsaking everything

that has or will ever exist –

at least that I myself

observed high above

in the yard

of the house

across the street

by that strange,






Melissa Reyes

original 5-23-02

revised 2-7-2012

1 thought on “That Funky Tree”

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