The Cherry Tree

Once I spit a cherry pit,
So forcefully it flew,
It made a swizzle, sizzle sound,
Then through my bowl it blew.
Through the table,
Through my foot,
Through the floor and more.
Everywhere the pit had hit
a hole was cleanly bored.
It passed right down beyond Earth's core,
Broke through the ocean floor.
That speeding pit then raced through space,
Among the shining stars.
The sailing seed's last resting place -
The rusty dirt of Mars.
And there the cherry seed took root
Where aliens enjoy its fruit.
If you doubt my story,
Fly there and see
The only Martian cherry tree.


-B.C. Byron
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Mars rover finds evidence of delicious plant life

This poem was not originally intended to be about Mars or outerspace. I love how some poems start out with an everyday activity like eating cherries and as I write, things start to go in an unexpected direction. I thought it would be fun to imagine I could spit cherry pits like a bullet and shoot them through walls. Next thing I know, the cherry pit goes through the Earth. I researched antipodes – opposing locations on the globe if you could travel straight through Earth – and found that my cherry pit would end up in open ocean. Boring. So then I sent my magical cherry pit into space, my favorite place to read about.

Of course a tree can’t grow on Mars. Ther’s no water or nutrients in the soil, but wouldn’t it be a great story if the first humans to visit Mars were to find a single, mysterious tree in the middle of those vast red dunes. It sounds ridiculous, but maybe you’ll be the first astronaut to set foot there. Maybe you’ll find something equally amazing as a lonely cherry tree – something we thought was impossible. A Mars rover can’t find all the things that a human will. Go there and see for yourself.

Keep Drumming

Some kids just gotta thumpity thump.
They drum on their tummy,
They drum on their rump.
When the drummin' mood takes 'em,
Those hands start to jump,
Smackin' anything solid
And makin' it bump. 

All that they see is a drumstick,
As long as it's long and straight.
Spoons or fingers or pencils,
Or a celery stick on a plate.
When the beat's in their blood,
Little drummers go thud
With the toilet brush as they're makin' a pudd. 

Some folks don't seem to get it -
The librarian, for one.
If you're whackin' the books,
You'll get dirty looks
And she ruins the rhythmy fun. 

But don't give up on your drummin' pursuit.
To the finger thump thumpers,
I give a salute.
To the kids who got music deep down in their roots,
To the ones keepin' beat
And tappin' their boots -
I say, keep on drumming.

-B.C. Byron
Hold on! I’m in the middle of a drum solo!
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A piem for all the noise makers and budding musicians. When I was about 10, my friend Nick and I were helping his dad fix something in the basement. I don’t remember what it was. I do remember all the glorious tappy, scraping, drummy sounds I could make with his dad’s tools, though. I really got into it and kept up the beat across 3 or 4 tools at once. It sounded great to me and Nick didn’t seem to mind.

Nick’s dad handed me a drill he’d just finished using and started to ask me to put it away for him. I remember him quickly yanking the tool back and saying, “Nevermind. I don’t want to know what obnoxious sound you’ll be able to make with that”. Over time, this and other incidents taught me to contain my music, but the drummy moods never stopped coming. Now as an adult I occasionally still get the impulse and pretty soon I’m all in, with hands whacking my thighs and feet working a tap dance on the tile floor. My kids get embarassed by it, but sometimes you just gotta give in to the music.

Keep drumming, singing, dancing, or whatever moves you. There’s plenty of time to be embarrassed as an adult so don’t start now. There are times when it might get you in trouble, but bottling it up too long is worse. Share your music when it comes.