Those Trees (day 2524)

What trees came out of here?
What harm has been done before
How could we have ever saved you
Ten thousand miles away?
Chainsaws and axes thrown
Into your hearts of gold
Good soil twisted off again
Broken away and shipped beyond
Pretending another way.

Darkness returns in your future’s growth
Overstory large and bark
Grabbing at a curious mind
Peaks and valleys roughening
Softening along the floor
Moss returns again.

Inner Bark (day 2425)

I’m turning over a new leaf
– Budding spirals green in depth,
Spring’s warming showers –
My lines have turned
My shadows shifted
My inner bark has begun to stretch
To where my roots know how to find.
This heart of mine has slept and drank
My eyes have wept and cleared
New toes of length have wiggled free
For today I continue blossoming.

Ancient Forest, Ranger (day 2142)

Walking through the ancient forest
I pick up broken sticks
I pick up what has left the home
To wander alone, to wander, Ranger.

Many times I’ve shared my thoughts
With wholesome handsome faces,
In a trunk of ancient bark
I sing songs of fallen trees
That show me signs of what has begun
In silver rays of spying lightness
And broken sticks below my foot
Though an ancient forest I remain.

Calling (day 2096)

This is my calling
Run through the forest
Trails along the way
Lead me home, sometimes.

Forage some berries
Discover a toadstool
Help a little frog
Along its merry way.

Some paths grow narrow
Hardly able to walk
A step on a branch
Scares the whole flock.

And then open up
To a wide open meadow
Dig up some roots
Soil to my soul.

This is my calling
Deep winter bark
Roots on my threshold
Home in the end.

Tracing Blurry Lines (day 1844)

My eyes have become the blurry vision
Of what they once used to see,
Fading sunlight in a white-washed
Washing machine.
The deck has become stained
With forgotten footsteps,
Leaving only smears
As marks on my mind.
And I delicately touch rough bark
Encircling our plum tree,
Tracing lines from hither to tither
Like the vision I once used to see.

Tracing Blurry Lines by Ned Tobin

Ode to a Weeping Willow (day 1765)

Oh my heart if it could be strong
But weeping, and I’m going home.
With your cool breeze rustling
My cool knees in this early spring daze.
Are you really calling out my name?
Or have you decided to plant my seed
Into the horizon with a beautiful sunset
And calling out to the midnight bullfrogs
Who echo deeply off this thick bark peeling.

Ode to the Big Cedar (day 1759)

I looked up to wonder
How many years has your bark
Entangled your sinuous heart,
The very fibers of your girth
And timber, thick.
How long have you towered
Above the rest of your
Brothers and sisters
Reminding them through a good example
Of how big and strong they can yet grow?
And my mind runs along your vertical stripes
To follow the years of your growth
I count the markings
The lateral indicators
Of a healthy year or a false start.
And if I listen carefully as I stroll on by
I can hear you whispering my name
Reminding me of why I came,
And to whom I owe this poem.

big cedar tree in the west coast of Canada

I Am Dance (day 868)

I’m the river and I am rain
I’m the song that sounds the same
I’m the lost and I am found
I’m the up and I am down
I’m the whisper that came out loud
I’m the suns forever cloud
I’m the light in times of dark
I’m the meow and I am the bark
I’m the sorrow and jubilee
I’m the thought and memory
I’m the offense and I defend
I’m the game and I am the end

Röbert Mönchkin (day 778)

It isn’t that the seasons take away my pleasures I bask in in the summer; running carelessly about the fences and jumping from branch to branch. No.

It isn’t the shade from the sun, nor the darkest of clouds that hover over horizons I see from the top of these branches in this place I call home. No.

It isn’t the infestation of caterpillars that slither their way into every single crevice I’ve ever held dear to me and my family, eating away the lush green leaves that paint the exterior of my home. No.

It isn’t the bears the rummage in my little piles of stores I’ve secured away for winter lengths, nor the beavers that take my home for theirs. No.

It’s that blasted dog that jumps every single time he sees me, barreling away at the highest speeds to bark me all the way up the tree.

But, I suppose that I do provoke him with my constant chattering and taunting…

aSquirrelII

Röbert can be purchased here.