"fireweed" poems
The Mountain keeps all secrets. Crusted lichen on timeworn boulders. High altitude longing for alpine daisies. Carefree blossoms, long ago plucked, gone to seed, restless in the fertile ground. Wildflowers bloom shortly sweet, fleeting paintbrush to layered canvas. Fairy slippers lost on crumbling doorsteps. Glacier lilies pressed between avalanched pages. Forget-me-nots in forgotten blue hollows. The common harebell feels anything but common when seen through a lover's eyes. Forest tiger, your bulbs taste bitter. Purple lupines sage with fuzzy-leafed logic. Fireweed, ***** unadorned, eternally reaching. Lousewort, spreading phlox, leave this scarlet alone. Listen to Indian Henry, it's bad luck to trample what is sacred. The devil dreams behind steep and sheltered walls. Keep to the Wonderland, bypass this Trail of Shadows. Seek ancient hunting grounds, steadfast shelter in the wooded clearing. There is no pearly everlasting along these old trails. Paradise lost may never be regained.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
limbs of the fallen
upon a funeral pyre
failed offerings to a careless sun
the sacred forest lies in ruin
trilliums no more to flower
silence mocks the land
no songbirds in the bower
spires from the wreckage
rise verdant and aflame
magenta resurrection
wild and untamed
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
narrow potholed roads
long winding switchbacks
blind corners that lead
the chosen to heaven
the rest of us
sinners
rotting slash piles
in a clear cut
fireweed rising
from raw earth
in this land of trees
the forest is forgotten
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
The mountains powdered
with termination dust
hark the end of summer.
Soon the clusters of evergreens
will be coated in snow,
just as they were last winter.
The snow falls flake by flake.
It's in no rush to hit the ground;
it will melt once it does.
The fireweed has bloomed -
only towering stalks and wilted
magenta flowers remain.
The same type of peace
befalls my quiet life.
Slowly, I return to old ways.
Like footprints in the snow,
the tread of future days
looks much like those of the past.
Sep 23, 2021
Sep 23, 2021 at 3:14 AM UTC
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
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 9:35 PM UTC
I was brought up in Western Leeds,
Almost two miles from the nearest cow or sheep.
In sprawling suburbs:
Row after row of smoke stained redbrick slums.
We had our fields:
Jungles of Rose Bay Willow Herb
(Fireweed to the Americans)
On former demolition sites.
Our childhood spears were honed
From fireweed spears.
Our house was in a terrace
On “School Street”,
Where we took baths in the sink
And crept to outside toilets
In the dark of the “back yard”.
Those days were punctuated
By the “Yie Yie” blare
From the local factory siren.
A deafening sound.
And by endless hammering
From the scrapyard nearby.
But we loved our dripping and bread,
And our walks to the sweet shop.
Playing hopscotch on those stone “flags”
Along the sides of the cobbled street
Under old Victorian gas lamps
Straight from Narnia.
I recall crying on our return from the coast
At a dismal scene
Of soot shrouded trains
On tortured railway lines.
But I also feel nostalgia
For those heady days
Of childhood innocence.
Wearing a cardboard box as a space suit,
And running around
During a “New Year’s Revolution”.
Happy Days.
Paul Butters
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
On a bright and sunny day
On the 18th of May
An earthquake resulted in a landslide
That unleashed a massive force brewing inside
The eruption removed the upper 1,300 feet
The magma chamber burst- rock & gas blown at supersonic speed
Within 8 miles, all was instantly wrecked
With a shockwave so big, what could one expect?
As the north slope collapsed down
All life forms began to drown
Every tree in sight swept away
19 miles outward; a ruinous ashtray
Silence breaks as ash falls like snow
The once mature landscape now just an embryo
What had become a lifeless terrain,
Now shows us what 35 years can attain.
After the volcanic cataclysm
Biological legacies determine the pace of new ecosystems
The following colonizers proceed:
Lupines, pearly everlasting, alder shrubs, and fireweed.
The coniferous forest was replaced
The deciduous Alder trees won the race
The new forest attracts grasshoppers, birds, and ants
Larks, gophers, sparrows and deer mice take a chance
Out of 256 species alive prior to the eruption,
86 are now in production
20% of the surface is covered with grass and legumes
Struggling young trees that endeavor to bloom
Ecological gaps begin to fill
Strong ecosystems form, production is uphill.
Elk arrives to munch on grass and bark
The thick forests attract birds, like larks.
Fallen logs create nutrients and feed biofilm to the lake
Floating ecosystems now have plenty resources to take
Elevation affects the rate of recovery reports.
The higher the colder, which means the growing season is short.
The loss of trees means more room for sun
As the lake warms up, there’s increased production
More insects and bigger fish, like rainbow trout
Salamanders are scarce now, not many about.
Lupines deserve their own stanza, those purple legumes.
They help make a pumice landscape suitable for others to bloom.
Lupines create essential nutrients the pumice is low on
Other plants are thankful for the rare space to grow on.
All this information hopefully to inspire,
Life pulls through in situations most dire.
Mount Saint Helens’ destructive wake is seen clearly today,
The eruption that obliterated had also paved a way.
May 18, 2022
May 18, 2022 at 11:31 AM UTC
The thaw begins with a drip,
builds to a roar, subsides to sunlight
prisms playing over every surface
illuminating still-wet velvet wings
maroon and yellow, neon blue
pseudo-bark underneath.
In the clear-cut, pink fireweed
pierces a sky alive with souls
reveling in their last year on earth
sampling nectar with newly curled
tongues while summer degrades
to fall, burrowing in the cool
damp cord of fir put up for winter
awakening in spring, tasting summer
before the reprieve, too soon over
time come to fold
battered wings, to slip free
of this mourning cloak and rise.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
In Uganik Bay that year the sun never set
I walked the long greening path to the dock
fireweed taller than I shooting summer's sky
Warmth of sun bringing lazy lily's leaning
Little waves splashed breaking cerulean blue
I waited the mail plane, pontooned it flew
Lulling oceans smooth you landed
with eyes that sailed me far-off island stranded
next to you
Float plane to carry us edging mountains, snowy, jagged
Dall sheep, perched asleep precariously rocky hung
Kodiak bears forded rivers we circled streaming on
Deep black kettle ponds no man to touch
snowy patches amid viridian lush
frozen, not to melt
our treasured days of flying
We met again at Hatcher's pass
with hearts to break as fragile glass
a part of love undying
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC
We climbed red fireweed hills
overlooking shadowy places, empty gazes
looking on
Mountain sheltered days of rain
poured us down, beneath drying sun
silence of words that never come
Still love is not a fleeting game
it winds it's way, a path is laid
walking our way home
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 11:15 AM UTC
opposite the house. is mowed
regularly, bordered with rose bay willow herb.
pink.
some say a **** others an herb, yet it is
a useful plant, a stand together in public
space, glow in groups of style and ease.
now september, frothy beards begin to
gentle blow on air, then winter stems
remain.
fireweed.
pink.
i have no photograph.
.
pink.
to die back gracefully or be
strimmed.
sbm.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
If you were a fireweed
and your bright
pink petals
had fallen,
Your fluffy seeds
would still
have flights
ahead.
Ruth Solnit September 5, 2020
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 5:08 PM UTC
Now must I part from you, a small rope, a tiny ladder,
a leaf of turquoise, los rosas de castilla, and amble out
towards fireweed barrow set with equinox willow.
With mountain goats’ wool, clematis bag withstands
a hundred pounds, carries all of fallow summer.
Stray there, delphinium glimmers, larkspur nearby.
In the room of the dissolution of matter
advise debt-slaves peppermint often follows.
Not Calvinist, but on the balcony boys lick pointed ovaries.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC
After a tiring week of never-ending emails and endless telphone calls, I needed quietness.
I walked to the beach to enjoy the cool sea breeze.
The day was luminous and beautiful.
As I face the sparkling, turqiose sea, the islands welcomed me.
Blue enamel and white fluffy clouds swathe the horizon.
It's so quiet...only the droning of the airplane at the far distance, then the dragon-fly wings, the lapping of the waves against the shore, the buzzing of the bee over my head and the pandanus leaves interrupt my reverie.
From some hidden spot in the grasses, a frog scolded the pilot for disturbing the peace.
Seagulls' called from the far right; a chickadee chirped to my left.
A family of four sand ***** made an occassional dance, in search of food from where I sat.
A breathe of air stirred the palm trees and caused the fireweeds nearby to sway and shimmer.
The smell of seaweed was in the air. It was a fishy smell, a pungent, salty odour.
I felt the warmth of the scorching sun, despite the sheltering of the trees.
Here and there, fireweed seadpod split open, releasing the white soft cotton.
The sea breeze ruffled the water, I seemed to see a thousand silver -winged birds, dancing to their heart's content.
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 1:28 AM UTC
Up the hill past the waterfall
Trippn thru bracken and gorse
Fireweed lines the path
Thru moss covered dense dark wood, no remorse
201m above see level, when shall I stop?
Nettles coarse my legs as I step up over stone n roots
Mist and dew cling to me
As I clamber up the wood with climbing boots
220m now I think I see the top?
The viewing seat beckons
But the top is not the top
And more steps needed I reckon
240 m now I see the top
Views of Calandar town appear
I can see 200 miles maybe more perhaps to England
Heathers blossoms like veneer
245m I'm there
My heart rate peaks at 170 beats per minute
Scottish history below me
Time to descend and create some more
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC