I’m gone
It has taken me a while
But I sit here
Gone
Watching the elongating
Aloe vera leaves
Reach
So far from the road
That once brought me here.
I’m gone
My path long overwritten
Slight smile
Of downtrodden blades
And the omnipresent moss
Setting it’s tangles
Deeper than I can ever watch.
I’m gone
Noises from the party
Barely audible
Where my anxiety levels
Scream
An inability to be present
Sits waiting in blades of grass
I walk amongst alone.
For what should not
Like the greens in Spring
Vines creeping
Up the sides of your leg
Moss involved in lineage.
Memory was lost
With blue-black baskets
That bobbed unevenly
About hands of ancient grain
Settling into the hallows.
And River flowed
With anonymous voices
That reached the trees
And clouds, boulders, and lichen,
And touched the lips
Of each those lost.
When the wild worlds awoke
A thunderous cackling was heard
Mystics remained calm
But civilians, no they ruptured
Into the great wide open hands
Of the Gods they revered.
Some, well, some squandered their money
Buying useless diplomas and
Servitude obligations.
Some fell to darkness with devices
Emitting radioactive lights
And chaotic beeping.
Some fell into wildness
Like the river in Spring
Bounding over freshly fallen trees
And moss so thick
It became a cloak for their own dreams.
There was no end promised
To the deafening roar,
No scientific projection
Or mathematical calculation
That could speak for the Gods
Who had thus become maddened.
And in the end,
Well, there was no end
For it was never signaled,
Never announced over loudspeaker
Like each modern God so famed to do,
It was subtle, and thus remained unchanged.
It was the civilians
Who had changed, too busy caught up
To notice that they had changed
And what they had changed for
Had long since been gone away.
I feel the river never ends;
Long winding staircases
Of mossy rocks and exposed roots,
Craigs and juts and ferns so full,
Over and around it goes.
I feel the distance is all the same;
Each step a galaxy
Lost into mycelium
Softened by depth of lichen,
A tangle of Gaia’s webbing.
I feel the air is more dense now;
Little sweat drips
Against breath stirring easily,
Amidst dancing ents and forgotten witches
Softly reminding me.
Run wild
Take the calm road home
Listen to the wind
Follow footsteps into the snow
Feel waves
Watch a leaf fall to the earthen floor
Scare a wild animal
Look closely at moss
Hear a waterfall
Understand a heartbeat
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.
(part IV)
The waning gibbous that night
Had nothing impeding it’s projection
Into the palm of my hands
I sat for a long time watching
It’s shadows across the meadow
I recognized how colours, now dull
Made for an entirely different landscape
I understood new energies
That floated about in midnight glow.
I feared reaching out, touching tufts of grass
That set aside momentary worries
I feared moving should it startle
What slumbered in the vicinity
I feared making a sound
For it should surely echo for ages
Like smoke signals at daybreak
I feared breathing to vigorously
Should my heartbeat change the hour
To a warmer beat.
I sat cross-legged
With my blanket closely wrapped around me
Slowly hunching over into my sleepy legs
That wanted to sit aright, erect
But my slowing thoughts calmed by thy moon
Let me feel comfort in falling backwards
Into the fur covered ground mat
That awaited my simple slumber
Assurance guided me there
When I reached for my nearby pack
An unreasonable yet simple reassurance.
I awoke with the same comfort I had fallen asleep with
Yet yearned for more time with that powerful moon
Watching the fire curl around its victim
Provided some of this amazement
And as life slowly flooded back into my body
I accepted the passing evening’s mystery
With an abundance of life all around me
Eager for my wandering pathway
To lightly pass through, eager eye open to all
Eager heart open to adventure
The journey was in every moment,
Not to be held for singular moments.
With the familiar motion
I swung my pack comfortably upon my back
With momentary shifting
Aimed to soothe each grumbling bump
Night’s slumber had produced
That, once assembled,
Found me beyond
What I had previously called my home,
Once again upon this road
Through magnificent giants,
Expansive ferns, soft mosses,
Sprouting mushrooms, drooping lichen,
And countless birds singing me hither.
(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.
My island leaks
It dribbles uncontrollably
On passing dolphins
And soaks mosses
That covers hardwood
And little squirrels
That come hither
Jump and play
In each their puddle
Falling calmly
Upon dark rocks
That take away
My islands dribble
I woke into a space
I could not call time
Magical fires burned
And mushrooms grew
Below thick layers of dewy moss.
I, the explorer,
The harvester of what could be
Looked upon the land
As opportunity to
Let loose all dear things
Go as I could plan.
Here the gold
Of my mind
Could leach its way about
As if a blooming grape
Growing up
Out of a four year and scored stem.