trees

Poem – Rain

When my mind becomes scattered,
when each of the thoughts I held
in my core is lost to the wind,
I seek out answers and resolutions
from the natural world.

On mornings when the grey sky
covers the sun and the forest
lives in its own green exterior,
the cold air lays upon the skin,
and you know that rain is near.

Each drop a fragment of some
larger being or existence beyond
this world and my body reacts to the cold
by reassembling the core and bringing
this being back into a whole form.

Poem – Trees

I see the trees touch the sky
and I wonder what would happen
if they disappeared and nothing
was left holding up the universe.

Poem – Emerging

Emerging from the forest
through the last barrier of this life,

beasts of the past intertwined with shadows
roam through the open field playing out their purpose.

Standing out of their way as
I am a visitor passing to the next life.

Crossing the field I am met
by concrete and metal machines.

Is this my next life
or only a preview of the coming revolution?

Smoke fills the darkened sky.

I forget where I am.

The field merges with the horizon.

Beasts disappear – were they even real?

Trees bend and in unison lift me from the field.

Passing through smoke filled dreams of the past or future
I emerge at the base of granite peaks.

Poem – Light from Another Home, What Controls Each Dream

Winter evening sky burns at the horizon
as day falls into night.

Eyes follow the black outlines
of branches reaching toward heaven

through the layered hues and scattered clouds
until they stop at the single white point.

I have seen you each night
from the cement patio as

the city quiets and the distant
trains come to a stop.

I have seen you each night
when sleep finally takes hold.

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** From the series “The Integration”

Poem – Searching for Myself

Stopping at the green gate and the snow covered driveway, the pine trees embrace the winter sky and the morning light, shadows reach across the space between tree trunks.

Too much Time has passed since the last visit and the space feels foreign. While I remember the name of each tree, I hope the ravens remember me as they circle nearly out of sight, their call still echoes through the forest, the only other voice heard above the winds’ song.

Packed snow crunches with each step. Brown pine needles blanket the white surface, untouched except the many deer tails weaving through the trees, reaching beyond what I can see.

The sun’s intensity warms tired bones and muscles. The wind directs eyes up as the treetops sway against the cloud-free winter blue.

Each breath tastes of nature. Each breath brings me back. Each breath brings me closer to a chance meeting with god.

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Poem – This Unknown Path They Created

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(1)

The march from across the fields
and sea signals it is time.

Are they peering across the empty space
and watching events unfold?

Are they among us now and with every move
and change are the unseen influence?

And whose path do they desire us to follow?

(2)

I walk across the field and only ask why.

The answer comes quietly from the machine watching every move.

Is that the shadow that has been following me?

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Poem – The Way Forward

Path through the moonlit forest.

Shadows follow like thoughts.

Trees fold in half after I pass

and where I came from disappears.

The way forward continues

as the moon is consumed by dewdrops

clinging to each fern

and ends in the lantern lit field.

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Nature – Delicate Relationship

There is something dramatic and something many times larger than us. What surrounds and embraces us with reluctance because we are there within its midst.

The thrill of venturing into unknown and undiscovered lands, into unnamed glaciers, lakes with undisturbed shorelines, trails and elevations unknown to maps, lives within us. I desire to truly experience wilderness, the way the scene unfolded before God’s eyes and the final touch of a masterpiece, with unfettered air breathed when emerging from primitive shelters, built by hand from what the land offered and gave to them. Where does this experience lie in our time? Is there some far away land, hidden under tussocks fed by glacial streams, within a mountain’s shadow? Who or what holds this experience secret, and pristine? Does it even exist anymore? It might remain an elusive chase and game, an experience we live and die by in our dreams, the end game we pour our heart and soul into.

Why do we chase that experience so close to our fingertips, yet the feeling, the tingle, so elusive? What is encoded into our bodies and our DNA?

What is the most pure, and at the same time, most simple experience we as humans, can learn from? It is time spent alone, with your hands as survival tools, sustenance found while roaming the free land, water down the hill at the creek, ripe berries dangling in the morning sun reflecting dew, fallen trees and dried bush to make the evening’s fire.

The cold water lifted from the high-tide runs through the clenched fist. The eastern wind passes through the outstretched arms and fingertips. The ancient trees reach for the sky with entrenched roots that have withstood time, storms, and worse, human intervention. What all of these elements have in common is their resilience and ability to thrive without humans, and the unfortunate consequence of dying at our hands.

Who is to adopt and change in this sometimes toxic relationship?

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Poem – Destination

The path through the
heavy pine and white fog
will become the destination
you choose.

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Poem – When the Snow Becomes Each Soul

Snow falling across the empty fields
we watch from behind the trees.

The white winter sky falls into
the fields and we are weightless.

Letting go of each branch
we fall into the sky.

Over time we fall back
into the fields.

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