Listen to raindrops fall
I thought I heard to let it go
Sadness in an old song
And my heart is letting go
To me, I’m still beating there
Go back, take the slower track
In a mind of losing me
I called out to a golden eagle
Take me to the sun
Today I ran today I run
Today I found a trail
Through a suffering forest
They call Ancient Wisdom
I led my heart
Through the roots
To place it at a base
Of Old Man Beard and his setting sun
That bled my raindrops dry.
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.
(part II)
When I saw it, I slowly pulled my arrow from its quiver
A practice as natural to me as walking
Without hesitation I had one full meal,
A warm meal that hadn’t been had in two days
My diet primarily consisted of berries and roots
So plentiful on this wild land
But frequently supplemented with unsuspecting small game.
Before my knife entered the belly of my meal
I thanked its Gods for their offering
For helping to sustain me on my journey
For helping to return the vigor into my body
So necessary for survival
And with every bite my heart and soul filled
With a return to this earth
And I was reborn again, new.
It is eerie the silence after a feast
Such powerful voices circling around
Escaping, collecting, gathering, burning
It’s like a dizzying kaleidoscope
Caught up in a whirlwind
Mixing with my own heart screaming so loud
I walked along in silence for quite some time
Thinking about the changing seasons
And the cold that wasn’t far behind.
It comes naturally for me as a human
To push on, push forth
Push to get to a destination known
But when I see my next camp for the night
I know it without hesitation
And sometimes it comes before
Warmth of midday sun has a chance
To burn its brightest spark
And I take off my pack, sit down crosslegged
And observe the land all around.
I learned long ago that land speaks to me,
It tells me what is behind that tree
And what is under that bush,
It shows me where to look
Before what I’m looking at is there
The land shows me how wind swirls
And leaves bend off of branches
It shows me the light tapping
Of two giants married by force
And light nutshells crackling as they fall
From heights stored in safety.
There is nothing else that is as perfect
As these moments of pure clarity
Yet behind every breath
Reins the loneliness such a journey entails
Which the heart never expects
But always knows is there
And I pulled in this deep sadness
With my breath as it flowed
Memories that showed me how to move
Like a teacher that had kind patience
As I sat as a pupil learning.
In the passages of my time
I am the benevolent symbol
Laid into seams that easily stretch
From nether regions of
An angry personage
To crispy green crunches
Of fresh Sunrise apples;
Delicate fingertips as I dance merrily
With sunbeams casting minute details
Into consciousness’ unrelenting path.
And if gods were ever here
It was an idle truth,
A crass gesture,
I’ve seen their footprints muddling midday shores
High tide, low tide
Stomping children’s little castles.
Come and get my open arms
My roots are in your hair
My hands are on your hips
My high is for your low
And I am feeling tongue tied.
Like my grandfather that came to rest
Rocking slowly in his old pine chair,
You watch the vista with an open air
Shaking loose your frazzled hair.
For in the cold months
You stand tall and proud,
And in the dark days
Your silhouette is my lighthouse home,
And in crisp mornings
Your tips refresh me
Like my eyelids breaking free.
But before I walk up to shake your hand
I wait for you to permit me through,
For your roots stretch long beneath the floor
And touch my home, forever more.
A breath in to future,
Save one forty nine unto end.
Lay my dance at your hand
Hay ahh – hay ahh – hay ahh – oh.
Break me aside
Heart run like tide
Where’s flame in the night
Hay ahh – hay ahh – hay ahh – oh.
Liminality
Great warriors dance
Forth we shall go
Hay ahh – hay ahh – hay ahh – oh.
Freedom is light
Deep spread strong root
Settling in
Hay ahh – hay ahh – hay ahh – oh.
Hay ahh – hay ahh – hay ahh – oh.
I grow my tulips in large wooden buckets
Pansies are higher, in small clay potters
Resting precariously upon railings and windowsills
Then here we have hanging from awnings and perches
Creative little baskets filled up within:
Snap dragons, petunias, geraniums, lobelia
All overflowing with blossoms of life
Watering is fun for you know when it’s done
By the stream of water flowing out the base
Now off to the side of this here green kept lawn
Is a boxed off topsoil-rich haven of growth
Strictly for vegetables and strong smelling herbs
Which will feed me this summer
Well, most of the summer, after they’ve ripened
After they’ve grown high and wide
Some of them root plants, digging into earth
I’ve built up on rows to give them wide birth
Others are leafy greens with big flapping wings
Reaching out high for the hot summer sun
One row I planted with mixed lettuce fantasia
Its colours range wide, from green, purple, yellow
Well, that is my garden, my flowers and vegetables
It isn’t that big, and it’s grown a little wild
But it makes an honest greenthumb-man out of me.
White roots ancient soul
Climbed purple seeds of weathered soil.
Long lines, dirt and grime
Dance on forever time.
Earth deep to sky up high,
Moon climbs upon bent back.
Cull at last indecent mind
Make heaven dirty faux.
I am the grass.
I am the moon at night
As the dew soaks my soul.
I am the tree:
Deep roots.
So close my eyes,
Let the music carry me
Past the littlest leaf
Upon me, the tree.
Let the clouds roll on
As I wish them well.
Let the moon and me
Be the grass and sea.
I am living unearthed
Separated from my root
Desire spreads deep.
Crazy, and amazing:
A freedom I am able,
Lifting and light.
To where letters fall down,
Sifting like fine sands
Into unforgotten hands.
Rest is never fate.
Desire waste-not,
I’ve landed again.