Did you ever wander lonely
At a path about the forest
Where squirrels chirp
And fly’s buzz
About and around your presence?
For in the path,
And on the trail
There is silence before you come
A silence that lasts like inhaled breath
And breaks soon enough again.
And on this path where needles fall
Flora grows as wild as wild can be
Blossoms at different times
Spring out to say hello.
Now, if your lucky as a rabbit can be
Some fauna will browse your way
About its trail,
Upon its way
From whence I’ll never know
And likely never see,
In spite exploring
In spite discovering
In spite the many paths one takes
There’s always another
Always a corner
Left for another day.
Tag: forest
Into a Hole, A-ho (day 1745)
I wonder, pacing back and forth in the middle of light,
Is there something that’s become thus turbulent undertow?
Have I designed such fit for feet of strangers?
Long walks alone in a forest captures my heart,
Where has thy sweet sun crept away to? I ask in earnest to nodding nuances,
But no answers come back, though I implore twice for free.
Meanwhile slow approaching whisps sling past in a haze of unkempt mystery
Shrouded in man-made asphalt that collects at its side big puddles
For jumping.
And yet my friends among the silence who stand motionlessly absorbent
Carry weight of history so thickly my stomach begins to grumble,
My breath begins to abate me, and a slow tear finds its way into a hole.
So my wandering takes me back to a place I’ve always been
A question that’s never left the tips of my heart-hole that resists coldness
Keeping my toes so at night but warming my soul into abundantly undone.
Forever Calling (day 1664)
You heard me calling out your name –
Upon my tongue it would forever last –
Though you took flight into the night,
At a half past forever gone.
I listened then into light wind
For the call I had learned as my own,
And here at last, my breaking point,
A white wolf on the run.
I dare not breathe for fear of alarm,
A fear my existence would cause caution,
Clear for me was how set free
Thy heart as latched bygone.
Your paws I tracked into deep forest,
My soft pads doubled your quick steps,
Leading me as if by force
Into your nature’s home.
It was here I finally sat atop
A rocky outcrop, a simple bluff,
Where every night I’d hear your call
Leaving me forever, never alone.
New Winter Sleepiness (day 1628)
This sleepiness continues
To pull upon my fire warmed socks,
Rolling up through my elbows
And following the little trails
Weaving their way up and around
A newly dusted forest floor,
Into my dreams.
Mushroom Picking (day 1554)
I crawled through thick underbrush
To reach a mossy patch,
One which I had felt
Would bring bounty to fill my pack.
As I stared into the beast
I had heavily prepared for,
In front of me I beheld
A patch to make me cry,
A patch that was so full of life
My bags began to shutter
In great anticipating weight!
It was like gold!
It was divine!
It was so heavenly I began to fly!
Bending at my knees
I scooped in fast,
Arm in arm with my comrade’s heart
I dove, neck deep, into mushroom.
Forests (day 1106)
Walking through
The forest today
I thought
Of your essence
And electricity
Anachrome (day 1087)
Anachrome brought me here:
Leveled the forest floor
And dug the deep holes
That left me homeless.
I wrestled with fate.
I angled my history towards
Chemical baths and
Burning blow torches.
Then I left in distance.
With mud huts and ivory
And skinny dipping clear-cuts.
Like a woodpecker on a telephone pole.
There was no death.
No marked spot for execution,
Hanging noose or bullet hole.
Anachrome lived in smoke.
Protest Poetry (day 975)
What was the arctic before it became an oil well?
What was a forest overrun with trees?
What was my name before I was a sibling?
What was my right before I’d been stamped?
Did I come straight from a hologram?
Was I brought home on a road?
Whence and where from did the light come?
And the warmth, did it come before gas, painted and housed within four block walls of a thousand pixels per inch?
Where did I walk to before a wood chipped trail led my way?
How did the day fill before the calendar?
Can a city be a city without city lights?
How did one tarry about a late night corner before floating electric drones showed I was withing safety?
Because dammit, I’m starting to wonder
Is there any point in the quest?
What is the point in stuffing our bellies?
Where did the idea of nik-naks come hither from?
How did function get replaced by aesthetics?
When did choice become demand?
When did want become a dire need?
Why did our brothers and sisters turn from extensions of ourselves to examples of our desires?
When did we lose all of our trust?
And where has my community resettled?
Where has my tree grown its roots?
Where is my moon?
This is a protest poem
The Sapling and I (day 919)
Windy meadows that long ago
Were stripped of all their life:
Elegant firs, long needled pine
And birch that peels around.
They’ve all been reaped
Into a heap;
Grinding and turning
Paving and spreading
Strip malls and sidewalks.
All in the name of progress.
In belief of and for
Settlers heading west.
But where was I at these round tables
Where was my voice of reason?
Was I asked for my steady thoughts
To protect our mother’s children?
For now I am to blame.
Here to suffer
To pull at breath and
Leave my anguish at the door;
Kick off my factory shoes,
Step into my factory warmth,
And yawn my factory toil.
I am not anymore the savior sun;
A strong branch upon a tree
Deep within the forest.
But I am a sapling reaching up
Into the sky above.
A sign of life, natures life:
An orb of sweet Gaia
Fly Southward (day 878)
Audible melodies yell out to me
From browns and yellows and oranges
And decay coiling around the forest floor
Waltzing in a downward spiral
Escaping grasping tops of trees
Shedding for coming seasons
And Orchard grass spreading seedlings
About the popular field surrounding
Swept about by gusting winds
Tickling the noses of passing strangers
While squirrels burrow deeper
Birds fly southward
And sun sets earlier
