Actually there were ten, but some of them aren’t worth sharing.

 

After feeling “too busy” and having “too much” else going on (right, join the crowd – I’ll share more on this next week)… my heart returns to poetry.  Like nature, this is where I find my grounding, my uplifting. The first thing I ever remember writing.  I wonder if it will be the last.

 

The following is the result of a ten-day personal challenge taken on with Carrie of The Shady Tree.

It turned out to be a prolific enlightening to my inner passion.

Perhaps it may just look like lot of words.

With these, I hope you may find something that touches your heart too.

Read a paragraph, a stanza, a poem as you like.

 

Gratitude for a dear friend, fellow poet, artist, and lover of family, nature and life.

Gratitude for words, creativity, and inspiration – all of which abound in this beautiful world.

(Please stop by Carrie’s site over the next few days, too, to see how the same photo can inspire such different words.)

~

 

~

You can only get

Here

by wet foot

Cool and soft and

 

squishing deep brown

between bare toes

Over slick rocks

 

The sweet moist scent of earth and

Decay

Last years dreams fermenting in

 

Never drying soil

Like a festering open wound

Where the branches bend low overhead

 

Heavy and wet and untouched

By daylight

which in turn is obscured

 

By an endless

swath of fog

 

Dampened desires

Laying heavy on moist flesh

Suppressed by sunlessness

 

Do you remember what

burning feels like

Warm and gold on

 

Exposed flesh

 

Instead in this succulence

Each drop a tiny window into the soul

An eternal pool

 

That will evaporate

and turn to steam

Should the sun burn

 

through the fog

~

 

~

Barren are last year’s

blossoms

now Hard and brittle

Spent and sallow

having been bent over

By the weight of

last season’s snow

Their seeds scattered

in the spring rains

Brown dust

to brown earth

And so it should be

 

I lean over

as not to disturb

That which managed

against the elements

And marvel

at the simplicity

And complete

complexity and pure beauty

Preserved by the wind like

An embalmed queen

 

What inner

secrets do you reveal

Spilling forth promises

of eternity

That few may

bend close to hear

Before the bright easy days

of new growth

Consume us

~

 

~

On Wednesday

The midwife soars

Grounded

 

Taking flight

Because she is called

And though it appears

 

She has no control

And just moves

Out of action or reaction

 

of spreading her wings

And rising effortlessly

gracefully naturally into the stirring air

 

This remains

the most self controlled act

she may ever manage

 

Of leaving a ground

And returning

While remaining where she was.

~

 

~

Last year’s leaves

Next year’s soil

Compressed under this morning’s snow

 

Elk tracks across pasture

Revealing delicate chartreuse

Of spring grass

 

Seeds

Transforming

A quiet awakening

 

Beneath the consuming

unassuming white shelter

The robin is silent this morning.

 

How can I see something new

In the same old landscape

Like looking into the eyes of a lover

 

You have wrapped your body

around for over a dozen years

And still find beauty and shiver.

 

now in static essence of early morning

Upon brown damp soil

robin sings in the cold grey light.

~

 

~

Boots by the door

coated with clay

Brought in from out there,

Damp coats and wool hats

 

hang to dry.

What’s the point

You ask me

And I don’t have

 

a good reply.

We both know

they will only

be wet again.

 

Somehow starting out

dry

seems like

the thing to do.

 

The dog comes in

indifferent to wet fur and

Brown tracks behind him

With no boots to

 

leave by the door.

 

Out there

Where the bark of aspen

is soaked  to green grey.

Silver tips

 

on bare branches where

water pools in

tiny glass beads,

and brown water

 

flowing through

brown soil, saturated.

creeks cutting new paths.

old paths.

 

it will all be washed away

we say

if this keeps up.

Heavy skies

 

in stratum,

the movement of

silky flowing veils.

What secrets do they reveal

 

As an entire mountain

Obscured

And does it matter anyway

That the horizon has changed,

 

Is no longer

Peaks and ridges

But soft simple close

White?

 

The view, the future, awareness

Lost

In the sound on the metal roof

That comes in waves,

Strong and steady like

 

deep breathing

As wet as the ocean

And as far away

Above me

~

 

~

In my dreams

I am flying

Downward

 

Into secret places

Of mountain

And mind

 

Of my soul

Where even in winter

It is lush and green

 

Places no one else

can touch

Or see

 

And maybe I won’t share

Not even with you

Unless I feel certain

 

You need to know

I keep them for

Myself

 

I become Crow

Seeing from above

A  mountain in

 

parts of a whole

 

Its steep slopes

And jagged rocks

And soft spring grasses

 

And the course of

the cutting river

From so high

 

As if I were

in the wind

blowing

 

across the open flats

and navigating the

rugged bluffs

 

in and out of

tall timber

until at last I light

 

upon the highest snag

 

above it all

the voyeur of my soul

seeing across the big air

 

and down into that

hidden oasis

no one else is meant to see

 

stealing a glimpse

detached

in this vast entirety

 

absorb my world

open my eyes

and find myself still

 

flying

~

 

~

On the surface

She shines

Simple and radiant

Easy going like

the afternoon breeze

On a good spring day

 

Idyllic

Tranquility

Stillness of soul

 

Waiting for

the coming unrest

 

~