"mayapple" poems - Hello Poetry

when he died, his jackets all went to the grandkids (world-war-two-chic was en vogue), his medals to his sons, and his meticulous preparations for any far-off hurricane, blizzard, fabled connecticut sandstorm, power outage, overheating engine, skinned knee to the big and elegant dumpster. his wife in her heels-for-every-occasion, in her quiet knowing languages and recipes and birdseed loved him even after she forgot his name and hers. they built this house bare-handed and in the shade of the trees and spiders and cell-phone towers it will stand as ever it always has.

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Jun 30, 2013

Jun 30, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC

cr1090

Mayapple

when he died, his jackets all went to the grandkids (world-war-two-chic was en vogue), his medals to his sons, and his meticulous preparations for any far-off hurricane, blizzard, fabled connecticut sandstorm, power outage, overheating engine, skinned knee to the big and elegant dumpster. his wife in her heels-for-every-occasion, in her quiet knowing languages and recipes and birdseed loved him even after she forgot his name and hers. they built this house bare-handed and in the shade of the trees and spiders and cell-phone towers it will stand as ever it always has.

18

Walking step by step, my mount makes his way through the deep green forest. Mayapple leaves and redbud trees, visible. Slowly making our way down the trail Meandering here and there, Watching the deer munching young spring leaves, Staring at us as we stare at them. Its easy in the saddle, No stress, no calls, no incessant interruptions. You can take in nature, rest your mind. Relax in the saddle, hang your feet out of the stirrups, Pat your equine friend on the shoulder, and just be. He will flick an ear, or swish his tail, sidestep, or shy away from some unusual object once in awhile. But mainly, just easing down the trail, listening to the babble of the nearby brook, watching the sunlight filter through the leaves. Squirrels and red-headed woodpeckers chattering angrily at our passing. I don't know that there is anything quite so peaceful. Just moseying like an old cowhand.

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Oct 1, 2010

Oct 1, 2010 at 3:44 PM UTC

judy-ponceby

Just being

Walking step by step, my mount makes his way through the deep green forest. Mayapple leaves and redbud trees, visible. Slowly making our way down the trail Meandering here and there, Watching the deer munching young spring leaves, Staring at us as we stare at them. Its easy in the saddle, No stress, no calls, no incessant interruptions. You can take in nature, rest your mind. Relax in the saddle, hang your feet out of the stirrups, Pat your equine friend on the shoulder, and just be. He will flick an ear, or swish his tail, sidestep, or shy away from some unusual object once in awhile. But mainly, just easing down the trail, listening to the babble of the nearby brook, watching the sunlight filter through the leaves. Squirrels and red-headed woodpeckers chattering angrily at our passing. I don't know that there is anything quite so peaceful. Just moseying like an old cowhand.

22

Brown oak leaves underfoot, last year's sodden reminders that newness always ends. But not today while the creek, silent in summer, chortles about last night's rain, full of spring vigor far below the limestone bluff edge where I stand, chert nodules and fractals peeking through springy new undergrowth, broke down limbs, leaf litter and dark soil. I came for morels but it's too early, too chill yet. Tomorrow's predicted sun may bring them out. Early mayapple sprouts fool me, draw me to admire other understory plants: trillium, maidenhair fern, spring beauty, johnny jump-up and more whose names I knew once but forgot. I came alone and I don't need names. Names mean nothing without voices and other ears. I love the silence I bring here.

0

Apr 28, 2013

Apr 28, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC

brett-houser

Spring Day, Overcast

Brown oak leaves underfoot, last year's sodden reminders that newness always ends. But not today while the creek, silent in summer, chortles about last night's rain, full of spring vigor far below the limestone bluff edge where I stand, chert nodules and fractals peeking through springy new undergrowth, broke down limbs, leaf litter and dark soil. I came for morels but it's too early, too chill yet. Tomorrow's predicted sun may bring them out. Early mayapple sprouts fool me, draw me to admire other understory plants: trillium, maidenhair fern, spring beauty, johnny jump-up and more whose names I knew once but forgot. I came alone and I don't need names. Names mean nothing without voices and other ears. I love the silence I bring here.

24