~
The red tailed hawk still perfect but road killed the colors of fall
The drifting snow burying the uphill windows to lit transoms
The absolute quiet of white
The starving deer the dogs ran down in that hardest of winters
The deer’s bones in the morgue of the freezer until I would bury the bones in Spring
The brush fires I tended that burned hot or low for days under late snow or Spring rain
The old ghost tricking me in dreams to remember our children born of plunder and rape
The gourds that looked like the swollen bellies of whales
The purge of the creek in spring run off stripping bark clean from tumbling dead trees
The surprise of the rising waters climbing my calves the ground saturated to jelly
The path we called Cat Butt turned into a river the sound wild and competing with returning brown geese
A lightening flash snaking the grounding wire silencing the music playing inside with a preacher’s thunder
The swath cut through the static of long berry brambles catching hold and refusing to let go
The oldest grapevine living with the elder pine protecting each other with their roots suckling water from the bog
The young maples I sang with as I learned their grove’s language
The low valley road no one wanted to travel that opened my throat to the sound of a vowel’s reaching
The last call and thumping cry shock wave of each tree falling as loggers clear cut nearby
The hummingbird sitting in stillness on the tip of the branchless dead tree each summer’s day at four
The oceans of colored mushrooms swelling the deep woods just that one wet season
The bed of lace and leaves tatted by oak’s tannin where I lay in surrender to soft rain
The purple woman’s hands of black cohosh rising from wet soil dressed in the mysteries of Spring
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Photo: Deep Woods by Nicholas_T ( https://c2.staticflickr.com/8/7296/8847022426_1d8de04c8c_b.jpg )
Poetry of Light 
like my mind
my feet
wandering
exploring
mysteries
within our woods
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These are special memories. I never thought I’d leave that land. I’m sure a large piece of me is still there… It still informs me every day just like any intimate relationship. Thanks Geo Sans :~)
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Reblogged this on The Sand County and commented:
This is superb. Everything about this poem is alive -I feel like the poem because the forest and everything that was alive in it. Poem-forest, they are one here.
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This is probably my favourite verse (I say “probably” because I think this poem is simply magnificent and it is hard to choose):
“the low valley road no one wanted to travel that opened my throat to the sound of a vowel’s reaching”
As the reader I could feel this happening while I read it and it gave the place an added texture that really takes the “out there” and brings it “in here” and then sends it back out again. Wow. What a terrific poem!
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Kindred spirits! Thank you Jeremy. I’m so honored you reblogged this piece. To be able to share this experience means a lot to me.
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JH, this is absolutely stunning. You may have left a large piece of yourself there, but you took the place with you in your bones.
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These old bones would tell you the same thing….thanks Susan!
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This is wonderful… it needs reading many times I think!
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Thank you Lois…I experienced the greatest joy writing this piece. It’s wonderful to share.
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Lovely. The title is my favorite part, knits it all together.
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Thank you Deborah. I fell into the title and the words poured out.
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I stumbled on your poem via The Sand County and I’m so glad I did. I love this, the sensuousness and the gentle care you took to describe each experience! I,m going to look around some more!
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Thank you WabiSabi….nature has taught me almost everything I know about my senses…a heightened way of communication.
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Your words speak to my soul. the road killed the colors of the fall…the bed of lace and leaves… beautiful!
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Thank you MJ..we all are learning from each other…ways to spin language into webs of beauty.
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Pingback: The Poetics of Light #3 « Poetry of Light
I believe we all have suffer
A tragedy some worst than others
But we all have suffer
It takes a person who is committed to life
To find a new path in which to walk
To seek life
And not it’s roads end
But a beginning
Where the air is clean
So you can breathe again
I will keep listening
For your words speak to me
As always Sheldon
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You have such a clear voice Sheldon. I agree…we have all seen and experienced too much. And you’re so right in saying there is more than the obvious path to follow. We just need to put our head lamps on! Thanks for reading this one Sheldon. My total heart’s in here….
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“The young maples I sang with as I learned their grove’s language.”… and now work so skillfully at translating.
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I can hardly express the intense joy I experience sharing this part of my life, Chris. Each moment I felt full of meaning. movement. the contrast is what informs me now. green to ink. ink to green? what to do? what to do? keep moving through the solitary rubble of words? life can be an ever solving puzzle. I am grateful, dear friend, to be reminded of the lightness of being.
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Keep moving through the solitary rubble of words. It’s working beautifully.
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