Backyard Reflections

IMG_0679Back yard reflections

Of a squirrel’s scolding

Or the painted crown moldings

My hands and knees black with earth

 

Wages paid in callouses

Long stretches of back road

Poetry, my heavy load

Each step a drum- beat rhythm

 

Alone, I was a mountain

Beaten by the wind

Growing thicker skin

Storm dancing, in solitude

 

Those are the moments that make you

With heart wide open, wanting

At all the world’s beauty flaunting

Leaping from your own peaks, to soar

 

A good place to learn your power

When silence begs introspection

Noting the fractal, the inflection

Teaching your ears to see and your eyes to paint

 

Yet I shall never return

To valleys of red cedar and pine

That passive state of mind

I would rather be a Tiger, than a Rose

 

 

 

*this was my view on the back porch today, and the reflections of the Lilly and the sky shimmering slightly with the wind made me… reflective.

I wrote this about my childhood in the Cascade Mountains of Washington

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It Was Late In the Evening

An acute progression of time

Moments compressing in memory until…

Only impression remains

 

The ghost of a name

A lifetime confounded by pathways

Choices

Made in the darkness, when you believed

In your own light

 

How silence became a challenge

To speak your mind to the wind

 

How has it come to pass

That one who’s bare foot was knowing in the moss

Now at a loss

For a scent to follow?

 

A snake mayhap, though once a tiger

Still I move amoungst the grass

Knowing in my age, my page

The Hunt is in my breath

 

It’s not my poetry that whispers, it is the wind

Inside me

When a flower blooms, my petals unfold

I feed the hungry bees who come to glut

They in turn pollinate the blooms of another

As they flit out across the luscious, intercontinental web of meadows

Of WordPress-

As if one could press, squeeze the fruits of my knowledge

Into a simple post

 

Please

I am not so easily quaffed

 

Still…

I offer this stream to you

Of consciousness flowing clear and true

To sip and wash the salt away

From the ocean of apathy you keep at bay

 

 

Coming Home

The bones ache with Autumn this time of year

I creak like two old trees rubbing together

At my feet lay the year’s growth I have casually cast aside

It rustles like pages unwritten in my memory

For I am a tree questing roots into the nameless

Sipping upon waters deep as a mountain

I taste starlight in my inhales of solace

And Terra in my whispers of song

 

I am a moment captured

Suspended in the fractal of a crystal or

Ethereal poem of epiphany

 

I am the Truth and I am the Seeker

I am one more link in the chain of millions

All breathing in this moment with me

 

And I am content

Communing With Cliffs

Fledgling grey are the cloud covered cliffs

Infantile in a wan light of dawn

Sharp jagged teeth obscured, softened

By downy feathers of mist

 

Presently, I am witness

When sunshine at last burns away this youthful visage

That dark plumage rises like the wings of an albatross

And takes flight over the undulating Pacific

Revealing rippling muscles of volcanic stone

The red, lined face of a wizened elder

A memory of volcanos in the hollow roar of wind

 

With many faces, the cliff gazes upon my seat in the sand

I see her molten and raging

I see her crumbling back into the embrace of sea

I see her holding bones like a babe to her breast

 

Arising reluctantly from my wind-swept bluff

I return to my bi-pedal state of mind

Tenderly leaving my woven sweet grass

To wander in the breeze

 

Earth Songs

There was a movement in the ocean like breath

To the rhythm of earth’s heart beat, my feet pounded the drum of sand

Wind played my unbound hair like a jazz pianist

So sweet and slow was the stroke of sun upon my shoulders

In harmony with the tune of a passing sirus cloud, I take the full measure of the beach

End to end the dance of my tread, among puka shells and driftwood castles

Until black, immutable, stood the line of cliffs

Hunched and muttering in the break of sea

I sit myself down among basalt and stone crabs

My joyous limbs no longer aflutter as a bird in flight

Folded, wings resting on the curve of spine

Breathing with the patience of water

I am the song of birds in keawe groves

Pounding surf

Breezy fingers knowing hidden fissures of stone

I am the river who yearns, tumbling from the mountains to rejoin the sea

I am the memory of me

Someone who used to be

Now only melody

I reach to the heavens obscuring starlight behind noon’s coy veil

Casting a single wish into the silent ether

“Dance with me”

 

Grandmother Earth

Hear me in the whisper of boughs, a midnight owl

Feel me in the fingertips of feathered fern, cool earth beneath your sole

Taste my tart smiles in a huckleberry, melt my icy gaze in your hot mouth

Scent my hidden bloom in a wild meadow, the musk of my desire

Know me in the moment of dawn’s deliverance, in the pain of labor, in the fathomless depths behind your eyelids

Dream of me, and awaken

Reunion

This earth surrenders

To splendors

Of rot

Sculptures of decay

Shaped by artistic worms

Beatles, maggots, miscellaneous Michelangelos

Creating forests of intricate wonder

From the humble flesh and bone

That carried once a wild spirit

Now made anew in my mortality

More vast than a human vessel

In the rendering of nature

who makes of my disillusion

Intricate, delicate webs of silken mycelium

carrying the messages of my chemical resonance

To the feet of trees

who will transcend me

In their vast lifetimes