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 David Welper
 David Welper
by David Welper  FollowFollow
David is interesting. Check out samples of his latest manuscript called "Sorry sir, we're gonna have to ask you to leave" and buy his book "Lookbaby" more at David is a Psych nurse because poetry doesn't pay well. Wayne State University in Detroit gave him a Master's degree. He lives in Denver and the Bay Area. Thank you for reading this go look at his website. Go. Get outta here.
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…so this guy on the radio says something

that sounds like "people tree."

And I wonder about it

and the first thing that comes to mind is

"people should work harder."

Why do I think that?  When we're bruised enough

as it is. 

And as it is, I wander off too far when given

lazy open spaces.

Or so it seems like.

Seems like writing.


So I'm writing and writing and

a tree develops. 

And I say "tree"

and it fades a bit,

and takes it's toll a bit. 

But I want to see where the tree is going

so I write more and write more.

And it grows a bit.

And I hate when people ask “what do you write about?” or

“Why do you love me like that?”

I just kinda keep quiet about all that

and just write and write as follows:


I'm an odd boy who doesn't know much about trees.


This I write the old-fashioned way.

Hand on paper which came from a tree. Someday recycled

by someone. So  

I think concepts are part of what a poet should be

so I go with it.  


I try to think of relationships between writing

and saying

and thinking.  

It's a so-called unit of danger the way the mind-works. 

And creates a couple scars. So it seems to be true.

There are frequencies.


And now I say “grow”

and somebody out there somewhere seemingly

finally understands and allows me to speak this.  

And I thank her.  

And I say “her.”

And her branch is born, pushes its way out.  And thank you.  


“I’m odd,” she says.

And I ask, “So?” and “And?”

But she’s more of a woman,

And I more the boy.

So we’re light years and frequencies apart.

Oddity only goes so far and

branches only grow so far. But why?

Why stop?


Sometimes I get emotional about my tree as I write

and go back to keeping quite about it

and the branch is now old enough to say mature things like "you're welcome."


And it wants to be a poet as well.  

And I relax for a spell. 

And drink

And smoke. 

And take a pill. 

And grow with it, seemingly into it.


And the tree is now a fixture between head

and heart

and I'm still odd. 

And my oddness has a leaf now. 

And do you believe me?  


What I'm telling you now?

I can tell you “apologies” but that would mean

I’m at a whole new level of maturity.

And I can’t do that

because I know nothing of trees.


The tree is now sagging as it grows,

gets older, finds ways to continue

as I do.  

And unbeknownst to me.  

And that's a problem. 


And I ask you. 

And I say thank you. 

And you say "you're barking up the wrong tree."

And I continue to be the boy who's odd in this situation.  

And I'm only trying to not say a word about it. 


And that's a concept I wish we all could understand.  

And I'm drunk right now. 

And the tree has fallen.  

And this poem has said “tree.” 


And I say to you now




and we all fall down

where we belong in the first place. 

And that's a little of what we call "growing" and 

an odd branch like me holds on

to that concept and just goes with it

as before.


Before I accepted a lazy space

And a lazy space is where

for once

leaves break off

but the writing and writing and so on goes on.


And the tree is developed so the poets can drink. 

Hands at full work-capacity.


And feeling like I'm going back

to some

simpler sun. Which is easier said than done,

so I just say “tree” 

and the final sap drips from the scar of

reunited events.


And we all fall down.  

And who’s initials carved in a heart seemingly years ago?

Years ago?


…so I realized

this guy who said something

like "people tree” was me.

And I didn’t think "people should work harder,” I said

“people should work harder.”


And as it was,

or so it seemed at least

I wrote and I wrote. Bruised as I was in some sort

of full capacity of a dream.

But it seemed it was less of a bruise

and more of a carving

and cradled up fetal position

in the lazy spaces between

“once-upon-a-time” lovers

who seemingly


said “goodbye”

and went with it

as if it really happened.



  29 months ago - edited
Amazing new growth! I like this poem very much. I have a tree like this too, grew up with it, even into stumphood...
  29 months ago · in response to Steven Gulvezan

    Thanks Steven
  29 months ago
And I say I see a new growth on the tree, a sprout of green branch, that calls itself, curiously, "And" -- well done, David!

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