fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green

field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs

creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent  
through a failed ground rock)

brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail

12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)

lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land

The arbutus is brave
sheds itself in long, showy
strips, aflame
leaving the fair frailest
skin exposed, willing
knife’s tip of lovers’ claim
standing
even
still
holding earth together, scar tissue
marking life
line, root’s depth
patient power

I remember my infant skin
cut, the drowning, breaking surface
with half a breath remaining, and the hollow
I scratched out and burrowed into
that day, undone

Now, underneath the heat
and itch, the crust
my skin inflamed
the fair frailest part of me
thirsty for that cooling breeze, willing
fellowship with sun and knife
to shed and bump against
a tangled life

How else will roots reach down
and down
to find the source
of ancient power?

EVERY year Emily Dickinson sent one friend
the first arbutus bud in her garden.
  
In a last will and testament Andrew Jackson
remembered a friend with the gift of George
Washington's pocket spy-glass.
  
Napoleon too, in a last testament, mentioned a silver
watch taken from the bedroom of Frederick the Great,
and passed along this trophy to a particular friend.
  
O. Henry took a blood carnation from his coat lapel
and handed it to a country girl starting work in a
bean bazaar, and scribbled: "Peach blossoms may or
may not stay pink in city dust."
So it goes. Some things we buy, some not.
Tom Jefferson was proud of his radishes, and Abe
Lincoln blacked his own boots, and Bismarck called
Berlin a wilderness of brick and newspapers.
  
So it goes. There are accomplished facts.
Ride, ride, ride on in the great new blimps-
Cross unheard-of oceans, circle the planet.
When you come back we may sit by five hollyhocks.
We might listen to boys fighting for marbles.
The grasshopper will look good to us.
  
So it goes ...

Feed me
    spoonfuls of this blue sky.
Slice up this glorious day
                   I want to taste it,
    want to burn my tongue on it;
feel it in my mouth for days.
I want,
to swallow it
to carry it around in me
                                               - this salt and pine,
                                                  these green leaves
                                                                        above grey stones
                                                  the white of your smile,
                                                               the warm brown of your skin
                                                       the soft colour of your eyes
Feed me,
   the taste of your laughter,
                 drizzle it
            on my tongue
     like honey
                                            make me sticky with sweetness,
                                     under the suns playful gaze,
                             leave me smelling of wildflowers
               help me be as gentle
   as honey bees.                                                                         Let me feast,
                                                                          on the sound of the waves
                                                          the sound of your voice calling
                                               from somewhere down the beach
                                      as I run
                             open armed
      into this abundance
of light.

Lakeside
I cast my line
leave it trailing in the glittering water.
Lean back
I catch up with the sun;
old friend
returning for this new season,
I settle into his presence
sway slightly in the spring breeze,
breathe
softly breathe;
deep and relaxed
for the first time in months.
Tug on the line;
I draw it up
out of the water,
examine the gift
the lake has given me-
write down these words
allow them to bless me
set them back down in the rippling pool.-
Cast my line again,
far,
it snags
on Raven’s wings;
shake it loose.
a few feathers drift down
I press them between pages,
wait for them to turn into poems.
Pick up my net
throw it high,
spread wide like a mother’s arms;
it wraps up the tops of trees,
cradles nests still under construction
-pull it down gently-
baptismal shower of pine needles and arbutus bark,
Thank you
                      thank you
                                                thank you.
Drop it
sink it to the bottom on the lake,
let myself lose sight of it;
I am learning to let go of control.
Draw it back up once the wind changes,
catch glimmering glimpses
glint of scales
coloured stones
lost teeth;
songs
held in the water’s throat,
sung in a thousand wild languages.
Take only
what you absolutely need,
one for each hand
-to keep me grounded-
one under my tongue,
that I may translate all this
with clarity.
Put all these lush words
in my pockets.
Pack away the net
and the pole.
Offer the fragrant prayer of gratitude
allow peace
to take my hand
and lead me
out of the woods,
away from the lake
and back home.

wake up, in a mood
feeling like dog ****
after a night of restlessness
stumble out of bed,
to the bathroom
to relieve yourself,
the dog comes up
with his “good morning” stretch
and a gentle bump from his muzzle

then its over to the kitchen
for a glass of water, or OJ,
whatever is more convenient
then to the wood stove

re-start the fire from the
embers of yesterday
realising there isn’t
enough wood and then
have to go to the shed

the raccoon that has made
the shed his home
skulks near the back
trying not to be seen
by the flashlight
or the over excited dog
who knows it’s there

fill the bag with wood
picking pieces that will
keep the fire going all day
some smaller lighter fir
mixed with heavier arbutus
haul it back inside
dog ever at heels

crumple up pieces of the
free newspaper
arrange embers, fresh wood
and paper to allow quick re-lighting
leave door open a quarter inch
to allow adequate airflow

head to office in basement
check email
not that anything of use ever arrives
check news
not that anything of relevance
happened overnight
head back upstairs to
check on fire
dog ever at heels

close wood stove door
head back downstairs
put on shoes, coat, hat
grab leashes
take dogs on morning walk

return,
make breakfast
eat while making lunch
usually tempeh with steamed veg,
or tofu with rice/noodles
or something similar
pack lunch
get fresh underwear, socks
and shirt for work
head to basement bathroom
shower

think of how easy life is
when there is no one around
to complicate it
life alone would be ideal
you get things done
on time
there’s no interruptions
no one else to consider
just you and the tasks at hand

get dressed
still thinking of how
well suited you are to life alone
walk into bedroom
dog ever at heel

see her sleeping
hear the silence punctuated
only by her slow steady breathing
realise that without her
you would be lost
nothing

kiss her cheek
tell her you love her

trudge out into the world

The Winter Sun

Uncoils
Over the world
Reaching little light tentacles
Into hidden crevices,
Smoothed over the cracking bark of pine and cedar,
Kissing awake arbutus and hawthorn,

Leaving a trail that rises just as steam from hot coffee does,
A residual warmth like the palm of grandfather,
“Good morning” he softly says as he gently pats my back,
And I feel the tenderness of this love in my heart.
“Good morning” I say in a whisper
As the sun takes my breath away,
As I breathe this breath with the sun,

A breath
for the whole waking world
fills my lungs.

The Sun,
with the same curiosity as a child,
Peers into the damp forest floor,
peeking under salal bushes and fallen fir boughs,
and Springs awake
Winter’s blanket.

Perhaps I am wild to say
I wish I could remember this
moment forever,
And moments like these
Which tear me apart and bring
me back together
All at once,
Moments where I am awestruck
By the glorious beauty of this dance.

So I am wild
and bathed
In the gleaming light,
As golden dewdrops sparkle
like stars around me,
As vapour shadows rise,
and green moss beckons to be
touched by the
tendrils of sunlight.

So I surrender
Into the arms of perfect harmony,
the love of a singing forest,
as if it's the only thing
I know how to do.

And it’s as if,
for a fleeting moment,
The sun truly touches
this Earth home,
while we in turn
Stretch towards the sun,
And for just one sweet breath
we share our hearts,

Together as one.