Tag Archives: Fir

Chains (day 2143)

I have launched my Saturn
To lasso my stronghold
About the trunk of an old fir
And in my harness
That I have so carefully filtered
I can see tire marks
Destroying the delicacy
So carefully planted before me.

My disrespecting synonyms
Displace me
Yet from this angle
My six shooter chops each antagonist
Down to their knees
To which I show no mercy
I have no mercy
For the main target
Of the world I’ve come to
Heavily breathe in
Lies stickered to the souls
Of garbage bins discarded.

So, I carefully sign my name
To hand written documents
That address my stronghold’s weakness
And dig my stick
Into footpaths abandoned,
And rip the flagging
From mouth of hungry chains
Replacing raindrops
With Spring snowdrops.

Moon Mind (day 2092)

Tell me how time came
Took away my mind
Left me floating in a cloud
– So low –
Mississippi river’s got my soul
Floating down my day
Hanging from a big fir tree
Gone between its cracks
Watching for the moon to show
My river rambles on.

Cracking Ice (day 2078)

I awoke with two round moons
Holding my hands
Asking me to cherish
Each breath I was given to take
I slowly drew one in
And icicles formed on my beard
Tingling each lung
One quiver at a time
Until my thoughts all vanished
Like the sounds of cracking ice
And light arose
From tips of frozen fir
Grand Douglas firs
Silhouetted as snowy boughs
That stood watch
One more evening.

Moon at Midnight – Part IV (day 1978)

(part III)

As I sat crosslegged in the little clearing
Hidden as I was, deep within the forest
Heading East to the land of the Old People
I wondered about the faces I might see,
Faces of the men and women who would greet me,
Faces of the children playing in fields
And fields growing with the vigor
Only well cared for fields of tender hands can grow
I knew I would find
In the land of the Old People.

Beside me was a little patch of buttercups
That skirted the edge of deeper forest
Fallen logs and fir needles of this land
I could still hear the brook I had crossed
Calmly gurgling in the distance
My canteen still cold from its fill
My belly still churning from its fill
My fingers still wet and a cold
Only fresh mountain water can give,
A cleaning happily taken
Where I had let my bare feet soak gently a while.

My eyes scanned into the forest
Of an age I guessed ageless
Not a stump to be seen
Finding geometry in naturally fallen trees
Trees standing so tall my guess couldn’t reach
Moss covering so gently
I envisioned the industry nestled
Deep within the safety net of moss
That lay about thickly covered forest floor
Fungus’ mycelia layer hidden well
In healthy circles around the Ancient Giants
Old Man’s Beard hanging low
And spider webs zig-zagging
With its delicate fibers of care.

My pouch was always on me
No matter how far from camp I wandered
So as I moved away from my opening
I felt instinctively for my tools
Stepping over former soldiers
Rotting as life continued its circle
Through the efforts of decay
My soft crunch avoided the mounds
Finding edible mushrooms was easy
This early season of harvest
Upon edges of clearings I’d find strawberries
And blueberries and salmonberry brambles
So thick I’d get high
Feeding so heartily on such sugar
I knew it wouldn’t stay forever.

Fire starting was an economy no man could do without
No sane man that is,
For plenty of nights I’d been cold
In pure darkness of deep night,
But this night I had supple moss
And accessible wood dry enough to start
A warming dance in my blood
Soon the coals were hotter then the wood
That burned inside their whispers

My bed was simply a roll
The hard ground was something I was used to
I carried soft fur of a bear
On the top of my bag
Which I’d lay under my roll
To soften each night’s cold
My dream of a sheepskin
I had read about in books
Of old foreign herdsmen roaming
Highlands of Scotland
But I with my simple roll
Laid out on the ground.

part V

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Moon at Midnight – Part I (day 1975)

There was no moon at midnight
And my road was clambering on
I saw what appeared to be shadows
But from what direction I could not see the source
Nor could I understand their movement
For my breath was beating strongly
Inside my mind that couldn’t sit still.

They say whenever you’re lonely
To hug a tree in the woods,
That everything will be better
Once you listen to the wind through leaves.
But my footsteps weren’t taking me there
My trees were full of eyes
That growled when I got too close
My fire had died down to a whisper
Which danced away upon every breath
That beat so wildly inside.

I tried turning my back to the fire
So I could let my eyes adjust to darkness
Cold dampness swept into my chest
That left my fingers clinching at the dirt
I sat cross-legged on ash
That was surely trying to make it’s way
Up the inside of my leg
Like slowly crawling worms
With no direction home.
My fingers felt like dust
Long gone into a night with no end.

Slowly my eyes began to make out a hue of indigo
Through the trees that crept ever closer
With a faint scent of a silhouette
That began to sing me a song
Reminding me of Joan Baez singing acapella
Which always led me to Bob Dylan
And one of his nearly alarming harmonica solos.
Stars began to blink at me
Through gusting fog that sped
As fast as the dying harmonica sounds.

I could begin to see markings
Upon the bark of the nearest Douglas Fir trees
Bark so thick that my hands impulsively
Rubbed each other
Acutely feeling dusty skin on the back of my hands
As life began to seep back into them,
Shocked one too many times
From the dark night that lay behind.

I pulled my wool blanket closer
Remembering I am a warrior
I am made of two hard feet
That carry me on through a winding
Needle covered path
Weaving past lagoons and over boulders
Over roots and upon grass
Sometimes lost and always home
And rusty feathers settled beside me
Wishing me goodnight, so I fell asleep.

part II

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Home (day 1878)

I am the will of ancient Rome
I cannot see my moon
I hear warm cackling of great fir
Smouldering as it burns.
Yet my two eyes cannot provide
Clear sight that I dream for
For my device in plain sight
Requires three at its helm.
So I will build layered roads
I will cull the dragon’s neck
I have thunder in my sword
To dig my family’s home.

PNW Rainforest Hiking (day 1734)

Roots and needles
Big ol’ firs and
Salal, thick leaved

Fine Wine Dreams (day 1392)

This tap has run dry
Of its fine wine,
Just chips and dip left
On the mantle ledge.

A fire burns elastically,
Transfixing each gaze
Into a myraid of dreams
Slowly edging reality’s edge.

Darkness transcends time
When city streets no longer wind
About fir trees and hemlock,
Mocking life’s cruel new wedge.

Maybe Today (day 1070)

I am flying above your most beautiful memory;
A tiptoe Tinkerbell tapping lightly.
[The old fir who never asked Mother
To learn what a life could really mean.]
Like a thought that followed a lazy bee
On an endless journey through paradise;
An earmark upon pages of a three quarter full diary.
[Wild leaves and sweet salmon-berries
Living in unquestionable synchronicity.]
Falling into subconscious memory;
Movement stepping towards a place,
A place feeling just like home does on Saturday morning.
[No forgotten apple weeps alone,
Returning to Mother in a final commitment of
Love, Energy, and all things unmentionable.]

Christmas (day 945)

Fir trees and
Shiny things and
Wrapping paper

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