"sequoia" poems
Stomped earth with broad feet
Fastening fresh saplings into
Whole forests
Eight feet by eight feet, the grid
Through winter month's
To early spring
Line of tree planters, twenty
Sometimes less, sometimes more
On Shasta, on Lassen, on Trinity Alps
Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines
In Mendocino, in Eureka
Planting baby giants, Redwoods
Sequoias in Sequoia National and Klamath
Young men with hoe-dads
Knew some old ones too
Women as well, though few
If you could bear the snow, the rain
If you could bear back-breaking pain
The glory is yours
As was once mine
Reforestation
Go plant your line
To be eternally in
Mother Nature's good graces
And kinship known by campfire
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
My body burns to rove far from man-made
buildings, prisons for the modern soul.
I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole
from those who made it their home.
I've been down to the Everglades of Florida.
Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots
of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of
Washington where fog descended on the shoreline
and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs.
I must experience America's coast to coast beauty.
Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the
sun, thinking of all the places untouched.
My list of desires grows as the glaciers
of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning
me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks.
Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies.
Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges.
from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of
Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at
the tops of time-layered sandstone towers.
Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful
colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter
Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point
will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand
dunes whisper my name with every hot breath.
The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come
backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam.
California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side
as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase
waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all.
I ache to explore the terrain that bears
my name, the country I call home.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
In sequoia forests
That's where you'll find me
Hidden amongst mountain laurel blooms
Under thicket of pine, is where I dream
On red dirt path, I lay down
To sleep on pillow of tender grass
When winter comes I make my home
Inside trunk of redwood tree
My bed of leaves, I lay upon
And dream the short, cold days away
Once spring finally returns
I shall awaken as before
To join the butterflies as they dance
But for now, I dream
~Marian~
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 2:57 PM UTC
I feel like I'm made of cheap glass
I have no purpose, I'm not of high class
And even though I'm of no use
That will never make a good excuse
Pardon my outburst, I'm containing my thoughts
And each one that goes can never be caught
They all burst from my mind like a brilliant volcano
Each one setting off a light and faint glow
I feel like I'm absolutely fake
I put on a smile because if I'm happy, that's all it takes
It doesn't hurt them if I'm sad, no one even cares
Because when I'm sad, they just feel the need to stare
I don't pay attention to them because I know deep in my mind
All of them have no idea of the things I think of, they're blind
Each thought darker than the last
Remembering all the bad times in the past
Each thought bubbles up and creates paranoia
Each one branches out like a giant sequoia
I hate each and every one for they swarm me like flies
I can't explain how much it hurts, but each sharp sting of pain I despise
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
THE MOUTH of this man is a gaunt strong mouth.
The head of this man is a gaunt strong head.
The jaws of this man are bone of the Rocky Mountains, the Appalachians.
The eyes of this man are chlorine of two sobbing oceans,
Foam, salt, green, wind, the changing unknown.
The neck of this man is pith of buffalo prairie, old longing and new beckoning of corn belt or cotton belt,
Either a proud Sequoia trunk of the wilderness
Or huddling lumber of a sawmill waiting to be a roof.
Brother mystery to man and mob mystery,
Brother cryptic to lifted cryptic hands,
He is night and abyss, he is white sky of sun, he is the head of the people.
The heart of him the red drops of the people,
The wish of him the steady gray-eagle crag-hunting flights of the people.
Humble dust of a wheel-worn road,
Slashed sod under the iron-shining plow,
These of service in him, these and many cities, many borders, many wrangles between Alaska and the Isthmus, between the Isthmus and the Horn, and east and west of Omaha, and east and west of Paris, Berlin, Petrograd.
The blood in his right wrist and the blood in his left wrist run with the right wrist wisdom of the many and the left wrist wisdom of the many.
It is the many he knows, the gaunt strong hunger of the many.
2.3k
almond shaped eyes
the color of fertile earth
deep
deeper than marianna and her treacherous trench
i fall deeper into your magic with every glance
the mere thought of your existence sends lightning bolts through my bones
you give me butterflies the size of ostriches
and someday soon i'll take flight
astronauts and the smell of stardust
nasa
here we come
i can hear the static pulse of the universe in your laughter
you leave solar flares in your wake
you take my breath away
a presence as heavy as the vacuum of space
not burdensome
but welcomed
like an egyptian cotton blanket over bare flesh
or the pressure of the lakes surface on my naked ribcage
an embrace
with god
with darwin
with satan
and neil pert
it hurts me when you frown
deep
deep down
i drown in despair at the earliest glimpse of your discourse
but when you smile
hot ****
that smile
i shiver and shrink
like a scalp in a glacial pool
you're strong as a sequoia
proud as an ancient peak
yet for some reason
you see me
in a far more flattering light than i view myself
i wanna take you
far
far
far away
and make you stay forever mine
forever perfect in my eyes
poetic strengths
prose-like down falls
and it all reads just like Rumi
classic
timeless
true
i can't wait until the day you admit
that you can't wait
to be tangled up in me
and the sheets
and the seams of the fabric of time
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
Everyone’s a mutt in this paradise
adding to the Gumbo: America.
Anglo pure blood and breed will not suffice
To thicken spicy stew’s- Hysteria.
Strength, which each American is made of-
From the poor origins like Plymouth Rock
to indentured servants-it’s not enough.
Like bitter tyranny of slavery’s stock,
And exotic railroad builders toil…
Sweaty brows and every acrid tear dropped
pierced this soil, made this land boil
with every dreamers dream heavy hearts stopped.
We overflow into the salty seas
with ancient roots long as sequoia trees.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 2:50 AM UTC
There is something breeding in the underbelly;
whirling and churning like an epicenter of *********** trends.
Someone found the formula to turn a profit on karma,
while we were distracted by viral beheadings.
Powder white moths opening mental portals
through the dazzling lights of self-immolation
while I trudge block after block through the snow
wearing slippers because I had to storm out.
The classes continue, the mail keeps going out, coming in,
and I'm obsessing over a splinter of worry; unavailing at best.
I keep thinking of how nice it'd be to see Seattle
and to stand near one of those Sequoia trees I've only seen on Google.
I keep thinking of how I'd like to see The Grand Canyon
and to to walk in the Arizona deserts with no socks or shoes;
the heat of the fine sand sneaking up between my toes
while the sky beats my pupils with that astounding blue.
Why am always alone in my fantasies?
Why is it that I can't handle the day-to-day?
Am I really even searching for answers,
or am I begging for what I want to hear?
My maturity and stoicity are rubber ***** bouncing on a line graph.
I can't go on bottling the venom that pools in my gut.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
Evergreen tree,
Burning red bushels
Of bark, branches open,
Cloud robed against, beyond
The mighty blue mountains,
Sage colour, rages of green,
Teems immortal as the sun,
Where great eagles landing
To nest in the towering
Chapel of a giant body
Adorn, what was always
Regal, everlasting, true,
Spiraling to the citadels
Of the swirling heavens
And even your crown,
A thrusting spire.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Palms together, the cold air settles slowly but with purpose and clothes me in goosebumps. I haven’t worn a watch in years, don’t need to know what time it is, know my heart is about to stop. The wallcreepers are on the move, feathers flee into the mist.
The wind seeks my attention, wants to dry the tears as I huddle but I won’t fight the strain. This mountain is familiar and I count cracks upon the skin on my wrists, assessing age that of a tree, rings now too many. Smirking while in search of the great white titan, taller than any sequoia.
The sun is prowling, scouting for a Tricity born tellurian playing hide and seek for yet another day. I jump and for a solid moment I feel an emptiness, an ethereal weight, I gasp and try again, gasp, try… sigh…
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
Calm personified,
Words resonating,
Bringing me into my own.
Empathy personified,
The joy, this belief,
We'll never walk alone.
Strength personified,
A Sequoia how mighty you've grown.
Trust personified,
Your presence within,
To have found a home
Care personified,
A hug that breeds warmth in my soul.
~You are~
Love personified,
Like no other,
I only hope you know.
May 4, 2023
May 4, 2023 at 2:36 PM UTC
Bucket List
By Harriet-Tecumsah Watt
**What's left when it's done
No more to cross off with glee
No more to choose from**
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/648367/bucket-list
~~~~~~~
never write angry,
wise counsel for most,
but not this holy ****** off
poet~person
I am your bucket,
I am on your list,
or I better be,
and don't be thinking,
my dearest poetess,
that you are all done,
till we meet in the park,
ass-freezing,
beneath the Golden Gate Bridge.
You, my Hamlet,
always questioning and
annoyingly annoying
keeping me ego-honest,
Ergo
you are on my
the toppiest ten of my numerous
bucket list
of lists,
and I ain't crossing you off,
no way, no how.
Word-slapping your face,
frustrated and infuriated,
Watt is left for needy me
in a world with no
rhymeslut
broke, busted, disgusted,
life can't be trusted,
so take your disruptive crying poetry,
bring to me in NYC,
and I'll take you to poetry slams,
tango parties, a real Chinatown,
blow smoke up your nose, Waltz step on your toes,
drink with you in Central Park at five am,
visit half a dozen museums,
take you to the ballet,
and then you can maybe,
cross a few to-do's
off of our mutual
intersections.
write poem lines together alternately,
hell, even post-modern alternatively,
if that is watt it takes to slap the
Most Uncommon Sensibity
into a woman asking an
A+ stupid question
you are one of gods most
hauntingly lovely gifts
to me,
and I ain't giving you back,
NFW
No-red-me-likey-heart for
Watt's "I'm All Done Bucket List" poem,
just me bucking the trend,
just a lightening bolt to send
up your sorry-for-me ***
and a private, tender,
missive.
I'll come to you if you feeling blue,
but
get this straight my Indian chief-girl,
no matter where or when,
you better have yourself
Sequoia tree hugging me,
list unchecked,
and not till then
can we toss,
our lists,
in the trash bucket
they belong in.
Am I clear?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
It seems the greatest love of my life is indecision and strife
Cloaked in illusion and aspiring through dismay
Going through the motions feeling like I'm treading in the deepest oceans
With no chance for a rest
But if you ask me I'll insist that I am committed to resist
The mediocrity and lies shoved down my throat
I know there is a boat out there to save me from despair
No longer in this ocean of reprehensible emotions
I am now free to exist
One look into your eyes has caught me by surprise
Got me feeling this eternal bliss
I will forever remember the day the clouds began to stray
And the sun shone through, leading me to you
I am forever grateful,
Sequoia
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 6:21 AM UTC
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn? Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas? I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?
I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones. I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.
But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.
I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.
— after Neruda
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
*Mother Is A Song
I was born on the wind
swirling through tall trees,
downstream fed valleys
into open, high grass plains
where nights twinkle stars
and days are a warm yellow
because Mother is a song.
I was raised on her voice,
carried by wrens’ wings,
spoken in blue jay chatter
that told of black soil
giving life to African Violets
sprinkled neath tall Sequoia
as each word whispered her name,
cause Mother was a song
and I was born
to be her singer.
She often spoke in violins
sounding like a fast-moving rill
cascading over smooth rock
and deep cello metaphor
dancing gleefully through
the eons old gorge
while oboeing calmly
toward the delta’s sea.
Her seas, symphonies of blue-green
waves playing with whale pod sonatas,
dolphin leaping concertos
as clown fish nestle among coral
listening to tides and meter
where all life began
and now witnessing death.
Mother is a song
and I am born on her cymbals,
loud and angry like thunder;
raised to be her lightning singer.
Mother is a song
no one listens to anymore.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 11.30.16
(NOTE: an ode to the large death of coral in Australia’s Great Barrier Reef due to rising sea temperatures and pollution)*
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
.
Evergreen tree,
Burning red bushels
Of bark, branches open,
Cloud robed against, beyond
The mighty blue mountains,
Sage colour, rages of green,
Teems immortal as the sun,
Where great eagles landing
To nest in the towering
Chapel of a giant body
Adorn, what was always
Regal, everlasting, true,
Spiraling to the citadels
Of the swirling heavens
And even your crown,
A thrusting spire.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
Evergreen tree,
Burning red bushels
Of bark, branches open,
Cloud robed against, beyond
The mighty blue mountains,
Sage colour, rages of green,
Teems immortal as the sun,
Where great eagles landing
To nest in the towering
Chapel of a giant body
Adorn, what was always
Regal, everlasting, true,
Spiraling to the citadels
Of the swirling heavens
And even your crown,
A thrusting spire.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC