Sounds of raindrops break my consciousness
For I want to explore your body as if I’m exploring the forest
I want to bend underneath your limbs
And with my eyes search for usnea that grows so delicately from your branches.
As I step into a clearing, my nose so inspired
I will smell each of your scents, one by one
Until I can recognize, sight unseen, your every emotion.
I want to feel the damp moss growing around your belly
And tug gently so I can hear little tendons flexing at my pull.
I want to squeeze when I find your roots
For they shall startle me with rawness and give me cause to lift my knees,
And here, as I squeeze so gently, I shall watch your lips as they subtly quiver
As if blowing wildly in gusts of wind.
And then I shall fall gently into the sweet creek flowing from your nether regions
That shall sweep me away down a trail I have never explored before.
Tag: roots
Where Roots Dig In (day 2048)
You could have been left
As the ancient Ents of y’or
– A diamond tear –
For this full moon
Amidst orbit
Of one remaining star
That settled dangling roots
Bore each drop to fall
Again, again
A rumbling sound
Shaking from
Fiery depths within
– Mordor’s call –
Your name, it rang
It flickered truth
Through a clear eye
Of a diamond mind
Where time stretched
Between the underground
And fear you’ve left
– A diamond tear –
Where roots dig in
And a crysalis
Becomes a nymph.
Young Bliss (day 1873)
I’m young, you know.
Made of friendly banter
And anger so quick to jump.
I’ve a heavy foot
Along a freeway and open road,
A bypass of the byway.
My roots: growing,
Simple thoughts into
Designs and plans
Sewing a spot to exist in.
So I dance and weave
Hands held high…
Or beside
Because beside is with
And I’m young and in bliss
And coming home
To a fancy freedom
Upon my dawn
I’ll tie my shoes.
Peace (day 1838)
I remember my peace
Laid out along a long thin line
That stretched from my heart
To a little unsymmetrical pebble
Which lightly touched the sky,
Roots deep below.
I remember my peace
As it lived just as I do,
And it, too, decays.
But just as that decays
Life source regenerates
And begins again my peace
That I do always remember.
Touched Lightly (day 1802)
Do you understand
How long this land
Has called
And the footsteps
Over gnarly exposed roots
Touch lightly
As breath
Welcomed home
How silent
Everything has become.
West Coast Hiking (day 1754)
Large roots
Salal shoots
Needles and conifers of every size
PNW Rainforest Hiking (day 1734)
Roots and needles
Big ol’ firs and
Salal, thick leaved
The Glen (day 1095)
In the glen; wild roving stallion,
I paused to stretch my limbs.
And when dismounting my hairy beast
A chorus of chick-a-dees sang to me.
To listen intently I spread my wings,
Laid myself low, enjoyed with the breeze
And over my head did fly all at once
One hundred black sparrows gathering their young.
Where butterflies fell over lazily my outstretched wings
And careless little flies found my warm skin.
And I on my back with my eyes to the sky
Watched clouds float on by; lazy summer breeze.
Long grass swayed as the warm sun spied between
Kentucky Blue, Fennel, and Orchard
Which my stallion munch on unceasingly,
“Chompity chompity chompity chomp.”
A soothing repetition with each grass pull; roots.
Up again, off again. Forward on was I!
A creek to be over! A fence to be had!
This glen of that glen, and fields in between
A small pond, a homestead, a row of red oaks.
Then after the huckelberries there’s a lane off ahead,
Then I’ll be home, my family’s ol’ stead.
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
Tree of Life (day 775)
I like the words tree of life
It weaves its way around my mind
Like a healthy vine
Working its way eagerly
Around any healthy hosts
I always picture it standing
In the middle of a field,
A marvelous spectacle out there
Silhouetted in the morning sun
Full plumage, healthy bird culture
I always feel at home
Under the tree of life
The grass is always greenest
Roots are always thickest
Qi is always fullest