OLD GROWTH
poems
***
Battle of the Trees
Long have I soared on the gray west wind,
Above the crashing surf,
And floated the Chinook,
Over the flooding brook.
I watched anger
Cool in coagulating blood,
And callus tissue heal the wounds.
I was there when the trees had hope,
and enchantments amazed us each day.
I was born with stars and time.
I was a drop in the ocean
I was a cell on a mineral environment
I was protoplasmically aware.
You were there, I sensed your presence.
You felt like me.
I was one cell of a mother
I was one cell of a father
I was a fungus in the root,
and a seed in the wind
Unassailable in immigrant blackberry
The alder raises the flag,
The willow staying low.
Elytrigia, lower.
Armed and unarmed clanns of Rosa start forth,
Internecine struggles slowing their pace.
Merciless, the compositae fly their children
Into the heat of all battles,
Sheer numbers winning this wasteland,
Created by greed, open to all.
I watched from the leafy glade.
I was the shout of the harpoon,
I was the groaning whale in the blood colored sea.
I was the eye on the tool that saw
the crushed skull
and writhing salmon.
I was there for the feasting and singing
I laughed with the children,
and enchantments amazed us each day.
I was a spark of awareness, alone.
I was the other, keeping company.
I was the mind of the crowd
I was alone in the crowd
I was a strutting cock,
I was the hopeful maiden
I was the lonely pollen and waiting ovary.
I was the fool on the hill.
I was the shovel in the dirt.
Windborn spores nestle into churned soil.
Scars feel the healing rain
rootlets make aquaintance
new partnerships are born.
New enemies writhe in unaccustomed battle.
Sunlovers control the shade
Denying the children the sun.
neighbor against neighbor,
strange partnerships struggle.
I watched in the deafening dinosaur dawn,
saw the flowing magma
and the river cutting through.
Traveling, escaping, I made these footprints here.
I ate the bluebunch, plowed the prairies,
Built the roads where weeds now sprout.
I crewed the gunboat Spokane
As innocents were slaughtered.
I pushed and pulled on the saw,
Taking down the giant trees
Whose death has caused this battle.
I was the cry of a torn branch
I was a wise man laughing.
I was a sword in the gut
I was the raging fire.
I was the wind of a spewing volcano
I was an ax in the cambium,
I was a wise man weeping.
I was a seed on the lavabed.
I was magic hidden by the trees
Starting from scratch,
This road looks familiar
Gentle rains and sun on a quiet day
A long time building.
Safe here now
The magic at work
The leafy sky
The quiet shadows
Hefty wood and deep soil
The sound of voices
The clank of machines.
The diesels roar.
Pearls for Swine
Songs of America 2016
We are like you,
Reflections of the self led us
In self-serving circles.
But bad deeds irritated us.
We have coated them with nacre
of peace and love,
Now throw them at your feet,
Expecting nothing.
Where once we dreamed a forest of democracy,
ma femme,
building your home here,
happy together.
a clear-cut builds towers of the self.
Manly swagger replaces brotherhood.
The endless forests that hid our horizon are gone.
Greed defines success.
We see guns make weak men strong.
The weak herd us down their fool’s path.
Hearing always the drums of war.
Where is the spirit once sung?
Imaginary songs?
Oh, Walt!
A sparrow singing in the bush,
so sweet!
Quantum poet
Sees all states
And spreads the possibilities
Into this fleeting vision,
Stuck on paper.
False perceptions
forming metaphors of truth.
True perceptions echoing beauty.
Possibilities linger
Until the reader decides.
COMFORT ZONE..
This low spot,
Seeking (tranquility),
Flooded with serotonins,
A glass of wine.
Saturday morning coffee and smoke
Nothing happening.
No place to go.
Not a mouse in the house,
No need for alarm.
Quiet solitude of days with no action, or interaction.
cookies and beer.
The world passing by without notice
Without me
Old Growth-not poems-
In such a short time
We are old…
That old tree lasted ten human generations
Adapting on the spot,
Unable to dance.
building a leafy shade
adapting,
customizing a place of its own.
Watching ceaseless struggles of life and death
But soon this place will belong to others
And the sun will shine on them.
From the rotting mass of old roots
new things will be shaped
For a different time,
After a last day of awareness,
another awareness.
EVERYONE'S DEAD BUT US.
I watch from the hill above the town.
The lights go out one by one.
Early, it was hard to notice the increasing darkness,
But now, it’s late, so few acquaintances and loved ones are left,
And with each loss
The darkness grows more quickly.
OLD GROWTH
Tons of tree.
Shadows obscure the sun.
Gnarled old wood from days gone by.
Sun-built, these elements of shading.
Other days, still here in the wood.
Those sunny days!
Old wounds still rot and fester,
Sealed off for now,
Behind another sunny day!
LATE SPRING IN ADDY
It is so hard to get going!
Even now, with the buds ready to burst,
I don’t know why to run this again,
Without you.
This sun is the same, but
The creaky boards sing new, sad songs.
Hold true, sweet flower,
We go on.
The mistakes fade when the children shine.
Summer flowers always call
Beyond the misty dawn.
SOCIAL EMOTION
Each tie between us is emotion.
Fear, gratitude, love and hate.
A fluid pecking order of emotional ties.
AS CUSTOM WOULD HAVE IT.
Back to world of men,
doing the acceptable.
As custom would have it.
The truth still naked,
Straddling propriety,
Looking for mates.
Acceptable norms sail the surface of a sea of animal reality.
There, in a stormy war
The custom of killing is frothing.
Customarily,
Many are doing unacceptable things.
Small-hearted leaders set the customs of the day,
Back in the world of men.
BIG NOTHIN
You think you’re smart,
But you’re not so smart.
CANNON FODDER
We stood in line in our underwear,
Following orders.
MORE THAN A SYNAPSE
With a thick myelin shell.
My memories of you
Are quick
Along those channels.
Life’s lessons wrapped in myelin
Not bad memories,
Just tough lessons
Do not repeat!
Litter
Old dead branches lie there
Not far from the tree.
In plain sight,
Above rotted leaves of past sunny days
Cast off parts.
Light weight reminders
Passed away.
Hiding buried seeds.
We are like you,
Reflections of the self led us
In self-serving circles.
But bad deeds irritated us.
We have coated them with nacre
of peace and love,
Now throw them at your feet,
Expecting nothing.
Where once we dreamed a forest of democracy,
ma femme,
building your home here,
happy together.
a clear-cut builds towers of the self.
Manly swagger replaces brotherhood.
The endless forests that hid our horizon are gone.
Greed defines success.
We see guns make weak men strong.
The weak herd us down their fool’s path.
Hearing always the drums of war.
Where is the spirit once sung?
Imaginary songs?
Oh, Walt!
A sparrow singing in the bush,
so sweet!
Quantum poet
Sees all states
And spreads the possibilities
Into this fleeting vision,
Stuck on paper.
False perceptions
forming metaphors of truth.
True perceptions echoing beauty.
Possibilities linger
Until the reader decides.
COMFORT ZONE..
This low spot,
Seeking (tranquility),
Flooded with serotonins,
A glass of wine.
Saturday morning coffee and smoke
Nothing happening.
No place to go.
Not a mouse in the house,
No need for alarm.
Quiet solitude of days with no action, or interaction.
cookies and beer.
The world passing by without notice
Without me
Old Growth-not poems-
In such a short time
We are old…
That old tree lasted ten human generations
Adapting on the spot,
Unable to dance.
building a leafy shade
adapting,
customizing a place of its own.
Watching ceaseless struggles of life and death
But soon this place will belong to others
And the sun will shine on them.
From the rotting mass of old roots
new things will be shaped
For a different time,
After a last day of awareness,
another awareness.
EVERYONE'S DEAD BUT US.
I watch from the hill above the town.
The lights go out one by one.
Early, it was hard to notice the increasing darkness,
But now, it’s late, so few acquaintances and loved ones are left,
And with each loss
The darkness grows more quickly.
OLD GROWTH
Tons of tree.
Shadows obscure the sun.
Gnarled old wood from days gone by.
Sun-built, these elements of shading.
Other days, still here in the wood.
Those sunny days!
Old wounds still rot and fester,
Sealed off for now,
Behind another sunny day!
LATE SPRING IN ADDY
It is so hard to get going!
Even now, with the buds ready to burst,
I don’t know why to run this again,
Without you.
This sun is the same, but
The creaky boards sing new, sad songs.
Hold true, sweet flower,
We go on.
The mistakes fade when the children shine.
Summer flowers always call
Beyond the misty dawn.
SOCIAL EMOTION
Each tie between us is emotion.
Fear, gratitude, love and hate.
A fluid pecking order of emotional ties.
AS CUSTOM WOULD HAVE IT.
Back to world of men,
doing the acceptable.
As custom would have it.
The truth still naked,
Straddling propriety,
Looking for mates.
Acceptable norms sail the surface of a sea of animal reality.
There, in a stormy war
The custom of killing is frothing.
Customarily,
Many are doing unacceptable things.
Small-hearted leaders set the customs of the day,
Back in the world of men.
BIG NOTHIN
You think you’re smart,
But you’re not so smart.
CANNON FODDER
We stood in line in our underwear,
Following orders.
MORE THAN A SYNAPSE
With a thick myelin shell.
My memories of you
Are quick
Along those channels.
Life’s lessons wrapped in myelin
Not bad memories,
Just tough lessons
Do not repeat!
Litter
Old dead branches lie there
Not far from the tree.
In plain sight,
Above rotted leaves of past sunny days
Cast off parts.
Light weight reminders
Passed away.
Hiding buried seeds.