To earth.....
we fell
still and always
our footfalls together
mingle, entwined
our steps walk
the vastness of
time

To sea.....
sinking we swim
drowsily dream, lulling under
salty sea air breathes our lungs
Water weaves of dreams - bright distant sails
calmly blues, red rains
of willawaw gales

To air.....
deep the breaths
beat our hearts - to deepen
Expanding empty spaces - fully lunged our love
contracting smothered, small - undone

To fire.....
passion seeks it's flame,
billows the burning blue
We seek ever close, not to touch
lest we are consumed
by love

Very early before the birds
the morning moon travels to underworlds
gathering stars and seas of glowing pearls
when swift the sweep of darkness goes
the night from black to indigo
blue in layers, the light unravels
then wends the coming day
the dawning sky of gold.

I have left the desert
to live in forests, under green trees
ruminate, drinking rose petal tea
my sipping cup of salal leaves
always I am watching the beauty
of birds, the wonder of skies
I dream into the disappearing
imagining beyond any ordinary heaven
with wings gathering gentlest winds
soft amid fog and cumulus clouds
coming, going, disappearing
how brief this precious flight.

Mourning - you flew over indigo waters,
landing
Stealthy stalker you walked the shallows  
billing silvery minnows
On rust red stilts, you're built
to move in watery fields
Eyes piercing depths of algae blooms
rippled, your swaying seaweed room
Silent hunter,
feathery plumed

It was a lilac day, a dream of scented heaven  
what world sings of this blue, green summer?
Early morning raindrops splash giant maples,
droplets of sun, above far hills
alighting flowering fields, with flashing wings
of tiny sparrows

Cormorant swoops, the falling sky, far beyond
clouds of pink edge the bluest sky
silvery fish, below in cooling waves
blue herons stalk long where
seaweed sways

Sunlight poured, warming mossy woods
tallest trees breathing steam - spectrally
lichen blooms, tiny flowers in the sun
before the dawn of washing rain
a silent ancient forest

awaken
grasp deep within
tap
reservoirs deep as wells

rebalance
masculine, feminine
release
old ways

time
of radical change
prepare
to break apart

allow
deep feelings
let
conflicts go  

wash
distortions away
feel
the softening

flourish
in heart, mind
empower
your life

invent
new plans
transform
into higher awareness

leap
from the cliff
dream
in endless waves

scatter
your seeds
give
birth to new ways

From mud walled homes
these remnants come, artifacts of shell and bone
leather shoes and deerskin coats
woolen blankets and woven rugs,
baskets for storing grain and corn.

Grinding stones and sun bleached bones
antiquities and memories found in fields of sand,
necklace beads of finest hammered silver
now forgotten and lost, and too the river's water.

Came a sorrowful war with bullet guns
that pierced the heart of every man
no match for shooting arrows.

The Harvest Bow

As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.

Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game *****
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,

And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall—
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,

Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.

The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser—
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm.

by Seamus Heaney

Lush cow parsnip lined the disappearing path
rain came, with cooling mists kissing lupine flowers
A sacred land the path's end - ruins of Haida totems
born of ocean, emerging man
of shells and sand
earth and air
clan of the
raven

I woke early to silence
but for the whirring of a fan
the stillness before dawn
I wrote these words
though they never convey
the pure heart of morning
or pure the song of the first bird.

Blue flowered in the warm sun of winter
pungent fragrance wafts splendorous
smallish leaves, grow deeply green
with a sun-ward slant they lean
hum and sing with bees
reaching ever upward
wild, their fingers untamed
vigorous, they flourish
lushly in the lane
our hands grow green stained
here in a dream field
handfuls of rosemary
we steal

Oh these doves they are cooing crazy
a language full of sunrise colors
with a variance of blues they coo
and soon the quails - laughing
the way they do in their morning mood
smaller birds chirp and shrill
the air is melodic music filled
here amid this cactus garden
halcyon songs to the sun
and too these flowers
explode in petals pale yellow
blooming high in the saguaro towers

We are of the ocean
salt water green, lime and seaweed
clinging and threaded, verily suspended
in the far off edges, ebbing unseen
steeped in luminous moons, impossibly colored
a darkness, plumbing ageless depths of sea
strung with opulent pearls, swallowed by fields of sand
a light discovered in the shoal shimmering lands.

you are gorgeous in turquoise blue
a swirling oxidation, transformation of warm reds
you are ocean water colors, deep in rocks, in canyon waterfalls
like the changing light of eyes, chameleon colored
ancient, elemental
essential

It was a dreamer's day that spun me visually undone
in cloudless skies of wild blue, beneath a basking sun
I drove the mountain road, where flowers bloom wildly to the sky
lupines, lilies, of twinkling starry hills
tallest summer grass, wildflower entwined
with deer to rob such beauty blind
with an other worldly view, I climbed and climbed
leaving all darkened, lowly thoughts
so blotted from my mind

Tiny flowers, songs in violet shades played, ringing round oaks
spilling on the mossy lawn
Songs of birds swirled sweet the air
and flew the cold of winter's caging, gone the snowdrops melting

Sunny - yellow willow, ever graceful
flowing breezy, leafy vines
sing soft of life, sweet the air
of your budding time

Tomorrow's path of hyacinth will bloom
to light the days, sweeping fragrantly all the hours of moon
tulips of apeldoorn bursting red, in a field of Spring, how sweet the air
soon far off in scented hills of green

Eyes burn
gritty paper, sand
tears pool
a room puddles
buckets, oceans pour over
dousing flickering flames
drowning
some letting go
dying
others left
wading

In your hands
I shall place
sweetest flowers
little yellow suns
to hold you
shining

upon your palms
I will map days
follow hidden paths
traced through trees
to reach
quiet rivers

holding your hands
at the border's edge
free dive, trusting
letting go, to fall
our two souls
deeply connected

beluga whales surfaced, floating ghostly white
ferocious tides ripped, sands sinking

cowslip tripped the cloud's crashing sky
sunbursts cracked storm walls, with fire yellow light

rain far-off sheeted, poured - hillsides weeping
fireweed bowed, bent heavily sleeping

the rutted road curved swerving narrowly upward
leading me to the sweet summer of Girdwood

Some say
she is lost to writing poems
snippets, little vignettes of beauty
so much nature inspired, obsessed
with green, botany driven desires
forever in skies, blue, or black with stars
meteor showers, falling, melting
like the liquid silver, red sea of mars
crashing waves, her days
tossed, tumbled, stumbling onto poetry
there is no fault, in words
no shame to be made
would be a sorrowful price to pay
she is writing to find
some truths, a sleuth, a seeker
of going within, without doubt
writing to find herself
most days searching out signs of life
to feel what it would be like, to be
in trees, in leaves, to sleep in green towers
of garden lily bowers
to finally dream in lucid colors, surreal
climbing invisible ladders
in orchards of apple blossom Springs
to sing, sing, sing

White fleshed the wild roots
cold in caves of soil the bulbs, the tubers
burst through aged brown clay, wet through mud slick rains
sun drunk buds of tulip leaves, petals painted pink
bird chirp and groan of ponds, a soft bedded mossy home
of woven fern and forest fronds, home to night's invisible frogs
white moon dogwood blooms, calls heard lovelorn
through an open window.

It is nothing hard to reach, looking outward
countless distractions, how they move me about
I play a game, circling moon-blue rings of sky
see a rivulet of stars quiver by.

It is nothing easy, fretful, I tremble with night
dark unnerving path, I run and hide
amble, fumble my way to reach inside.

It is something worthwhile at times to swallow a river
dredge miles of soul, to crumble stony towers
reconstruct this apprenticeship
slipping back into softness.

She was sure of the shore,
much before the crushing storms
buried her at four - shoveled and pale
Sunk her soul
the brutal gales wailed

Tides dragged her off without a name
she lived where seashells lay
No words to speak, the silence keeps
fear's troubling beasts at bay

Cold watery world, no place for a girl
she sleeps now in a fern's curl
songbirds sing of forest's green
the frond gently unfurls

It was wind and wild - sunset on the California coast
we watched the birds seemingly fly backwards
seagulls and brown pelicans
the wind bit my cheeks quite red
barefoot, we sank in the cooling sands
watching the final flash of glassy sun
firewater reflecting on the darkened lands
the sky swallowed the sailing light away
with the half moon askew above the bay.

Hills, brown rustic reds
skies pile colored layers on
Rattlesnake vertebrae bones
scent of creosote
high desert home

Lover, painter
wild poppies - orange paper
petals, sepal magnification
watercolor, oil painted
gradations

Abiquiu home,
desert ghosts, coyotes
wildflower gardens grown
to pick, to paint perfection
a flower
alone

Long night
curtains dark the gloom
creak the steps to her sleeping room
solemn woman walks these woods
transforming limb and bone
in feathery flight she delights
to grace a moon swept pond
her whispers weave a song, to call her lover home
entwined they float the woodwind air
until the night is gone
Shapeshifter lights the darkness dawn
to shed the dreaming night
now slips away her lover
and fades the glorious swan

So came the days,
long of summer's winging
sweet the cherry chickadees sang
of June

Grasping leafy ribbons hung,
willowy warm the trees we swung
All the green - the frog soliloquy pond

Fritillaria, frilly forest fronds
grassy mountain meadow paths,
daisy clouds bloomed, swirling past
Wild geese flocked the lake,
dusk too soon alas

August night of seasons end
starry meteors flashed across
velvet black whistling to
a blue moon

We are walking, we are chanting, we are praying
though many before us were killed and maimed
we stand in peace, we are in love with the sky,
the earth, the water, the father and the mother

We stand together, we watch the river flood
through the years spilling over with human blood
Praying peace and clean water for our earth mother
praying one day all will come to know
the intricate connection we have to each other
realize how we harm ourselves
when we harm another

We cry with the sky tears
water protectors in the river

Crush the painted pestle stained
of berries, purple, black
Liquid crimson geranium blood
red the paper sack
Gathering colors, lushly green
go shades of tan the water weeds
mixed upon a stone
Woodsy calls, her depths of fall
lone a painter's
home

In spring, green along the river
amid ancestral foothills, we walk deer trails
wild in the woods of scented pine
of silver sycamores, silken barked
stark, they pale against bluest skies
their new leaves green and glistening
we are listening for songbirds, for a language without words
transfixed, through this portal, reborn in this world
warm winds speak sweet and susurrus of spring
melodious they sing, leaving far behind
the cold, the dead of winter.

Sword ferns warming
some unfurling toward the sun
deeper green the moss, grows softly underfoot
forest fog the breadth of morning, breathing
grey of pale lichen clinging

a snow melt creek splashes running
clouds break away, to light the day
the shine of mossy flowers sunning

this church, it has no walls
no doors to lock nor ticking clocks to read
only of the sacred does this wooded temple sing
and I so humbled bow beneath
resplendent evergreens

Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head.
Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has
so much to do in the world.

People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can't
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.

Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won't even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.

Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.

William Stafford

Winter's unsteady weather
cold, cold, hot desert
on this walkabout with severe angles of sun
icy mornings drip into the sweat of day
the impasse of giant stones the gods have laid
to stop or climb another way
egos travel irretrievable, sink into what is real
here we scale thorny towers of denial
revealed, peeled in layers - to cry, to smile
meanwhile awakened, shaken
from the sleep of our amnesia.

Seed soaking
dark soil of days
split apart, shed the self
you've planted
touch the earth, so clinging
brush the dirt
your freedom singing

Wild geraniums collected
in pocket, red painted petal stains
my feet squish, squash in this forest
the earthy mud a mossy sponge
with fern and lichen the trees are hung
upon the ground greening with maidenhair fern
my satchel filled with dainty floral sprigs
in spring the sparrows gathering vine and twig
June's an efflorescent carpeting, soft with lady slippers
in summer the wildflowers and grasses wed
when celebrates all the flying things
wooded bees and butterflies in the sun
sparkling with faceted, glistening wings.

green forest child
you grow in sponge drenched soils  
drawing me in - an epiphyte longing
sunlight piercing raindrops
of lettuce lichens drinking
mosses soaked, greening
softly underfoot

Maple tree
giant skyward leaning
Dropping leaves
do you dream, long of summer's greening?

Your sunshine days,
the gray rains sway,
wintery cold

Once long ago
a tiny seedling
planted

In childhood days of dream, with grassy greens,
and swings we soared the warmest breeze,
in blue skies of laughter.

Under a canopy of wonder,
we laid under, O' the hours of summer slumber,
the lazy slow of watching meadow flowers grow.

Spring it sings in budding greens and seeds
with rain and sun, the days you've grown
acorns planted for rebirth

I press my hands to your trunk
and feel myself divinely rooted to this earth.

Soft
green blanket
stair step moss
climbing to stars
raindrops rolling
falling from
blackened branches
wintery maple

In relation
to stars, planets - the earth
please share here the date of your birth
You needn't put the year,
unless of course you dare
Now if you don't mind
please post your
astrological
sign

Cyd
July 22
Leo

So long summer river
bright snowflakes have fallen
leaving you silent where darkness deepens
grey winds rush
and cannot move you along
so dream of Spring's flowering songs
in cold nights of crystalline
when quiet winter snow
falls still upon
the meadow

Winter's amber fire
the ashen woods we burned
wet smoulder of mire
the water and the fire.
Dark ancestral home
nights moon shivering cold
stars fixed or falling
beyond the skies fiery yields
only dying embers
lost in oblivion's field.

Mourning - you flew over indigo waters,
landing
Stealthy stalker you walked the shallows  
billing silvery minnows
On rust red stilts, you're built
to move in watery fields
Eyes piercing depths of algae blooms
rippled, your swaying seaweed room
Silent hunter,
feathery plumed

Lilies in the long grass
wild with tigers, striped orange
under trees, cool canopied
buds of sun blossoming
pretty cats slumber
sleek they dream.

Nights,
twitching whiskery
breathing slow
slinking low
as if to stalk
shock the sallow moon
hunt and growl
purr and prowl
animals whispering
stark the tiger lilies
glistening.

A merry forest pig was he
he woke up very early and hunted until three
snorting, sniffing, the air he's whiffing
never is he ruffled, only focused on his truffles
He goes **** rumping
grunt, grunting for truffle - O's!

Wild he runs and trots the greeny forest
with a jolly jig he wriggles and digs
his cloven hooves moving dirt like lightening
hunt, hunting for truffle - O's!

When at last he finds his gourmet morsels
a squeal is heard and fly the birds
clear from the forest, a happy hog
a squealing song of treasures found, his beloved
Truffle - O's!

Today the rains came, without any warning
I watched droplets forming, pooling on the ground
the trees dissolving into palest fog
into the quiet of this forest, void of birds
traveling off to some secret world
perhaps to some cavernous mountain hollow
with glorious wings, I dream to follow
through the darkened woods, hidden by ferns
through harrowing clouds to be one with birds
with gorgeous feathers, downy warm
among the flickers, pheasant and crow
to be an evening silhouette in the alpenglow
a skylark winging in a painted sky.