Tag: rewilding

  • roots

    digging in the dirt
    i discovered roots
    someone buried long
    ago

    with an ear to earth &
    a strum with a thumb,
    those old roots still
    sung

    of a time
    running through a forest
    always towards nothing
    again & again &
    again

  • arrival

    i fold to forest trails
    in a meander with grey stone
    drone under feet and
    red wing cattail dancing

    oh dragonfly...
    please don't take flight
    we only both just
    arrived

  • 自然

    there is only this —

    i grasp for words,
    those gnats dancing
    on the quiet morning
    between the perfume
    of uncut grass, clover:
    impossible to catch
    or wave away

    — a stillness, the only
    act remaining

    i let the gnats do
    what gnats will do
    leave the catching
    to those who are
    prone to catching,
    whiling my time in
    the weald

    Note: 自然, or ziran (tzu-jan), is a Chinese word for the Taoism concept that refers to a state of “just-so-ness” or “as-it-is-ness”.

  • hollow of tree

    i was hollow of tree
    all chicken wire & song
    come that october country
    of hoarfrost & dream

    rime burnt leaves stained
    gold to vermilion & bole
    crumble wake perfumed
    i waited there alone for
    that coming of you

    rook & madder
    flint & score
    crow & calling
    bone & fall

    i was hollow of tree
    all chicken wire & song
    waiting mists alone for
    that coming of you

  • throwing hands

    why write poetry at all
    when there is the wind
    that carries 'hallo hallo'
    of the crow, high up in
    the cottonwood tree, to me?

    i throw both hands away
    and reply with the same

  • gasps

    deadwood slips to view
    grown of long hand fingers
    to cling at granite grey
    under endless feathered blue

    it is bones these ways
    there, under the burn 

    just a kiss away
    twine knotted taut
    gives over to memories
    gone to flint faded wine
    under gasps of sand

  • unthinking

    I am not thinking what you think that I am thinking and that is a fact. I bundle my thinks up nice and tight, in thick, oiled leather and lacing and push them bone deep inside. No one has asked because there are none who might care, not really, about what goes on tucked up in there.

    The truth is scrimshawed along my bones, inked in ashes and kohl, under atrophied muscles wrought tangled by scars. I sing to stones and prophets, fill the undersides of my nails with soil, paint stains on my forehead, circles on brow.

    “What are you thinking?” they ask.

    See, finally someone sees truth as I howl in the nights, at bogarts with thorns and ghasts that prick with memories. I rend my chest with fingers and unfulfilled promises made when someone still has something to gain. But—

    I am not thinking what you think I am thinking.

    And that is a fact.

  • waiting at

    careful as silk
    drift rise on breeze
    carry our befores
    gifted back to me
    this happy death
    waiting a' sea

  • ashen

    we wore our hearts
       in sticker on
          polyester sleeve
    while whale bone
       held us to north
          and nightfall

             — waiting
    for ghost-trees
       to give over and
          bring blood home
    cellophane crackling
       under our feet of
          cruel winters

    ashen, for that is
       how we lost our
          home

  • steel skies stolen

    there are days
    i wish it would just
    rain & rain & rain
    wash everything away
    down the drains &
    carry us to a place
    where we could
    finally meet again
    you could say, “hey” &
    i could say, “hi” &
    though we’ve never met
    we could be friends
    or maybe lovers
    like we were before
    we fell out of dream

    our steel skies stolen,
    some days
    i wish it would just
    rain.