Peering over the cliff’s edge
high above the churning fall
of the steel-blue stream
I point
look down my friend
watch that trout
with the svelte grace of a dancer
it slides in then out again
gently flexing in the soft break
of a stream-bed boulder’s shade
look there
I call attention
across the stone canyon
cut by this persistence of current
an Osprey lights a branch
a focused sentinel
measuring the timing and tactic
of his imagined next meal
let us go to the water
down the steep granite face
through the white aspen and Douglas fir
giant chinquapin and Oregon madrone
I descend at steady pace
bent-knee’d and cautious
I throttle and steer
with boot tread and trek staff
followed by a fine-dust slide
of chattering limestone pebble
and dry needle
clattering the rip rap
down to the stream-side grass patch
then alertly hop
rock to rock
‘cross the tumble
of crystal chill current
to where I’ll make camp
in this wilderness canyon
midst the quiet rush
of the Clackamas waters
and the hushed murmur
of tall Ponderosa bough
I settle
OK Gary
you’ve tagged along
all afternoon my friend
pestering my thoughts
with the urge of verse
so here is the perfect spot
to stop
to rest and meditate
mesmerized by this eden
taking seat on a downed Douglas
I inhale deeply
nature’s wonderful wild bouquet
exhaling the stress of the day
my soul feels a presence
still with me
the presence of a kindred spirit
quieting my core
I build a small fire
task done
I close my eyes
and peacefully wait
enjoying the crackle of logs
and the voice of the stream
Like drizzled honey
the sun through the treetops
paints my face in golden warmth
my thoughts drift to you
and the tall ships in Beaufort Harbor
their sails aglow
etched in shadows
cast by their riggings
and the masts of adjacent ships
you commented how the patterns
reminded you
of abstract charcoal sketches
the artist in you
always interpreting your world
sunshine made radiant your gentle face
your emerald eyes fired to a sparkle
squinting in the rays
your smile
brighter than the sun that day
I stared captivated
watching your eyes dance
among the docks and ships
that unfolded like a still life before us
watching your coral lips
sculpt your words
wishing the moment
would last forever
not knowing
how soon it would not
could not
did not
this morning
my memories
amble sweetly
back through time
I find solace
in this cuddled sunlight
knowing it warms you
as you rest
peacefully
in the sun-drenched meadow
where last I closed
your beautiful emerald eyes
The bones of my wonder
of my stumbled tumbled dreams
are spilled from my soul box
in which I’ve collected
the scarred and damaged pieces
of my broken hopes
wonders trapped within
a box within more boxes
hope so deeply buried
helplessly interred
but — must not abandon wonder
must not abandon love
love is sealed within
the boxes of my wonder
locked inside my heart
lost in the rubble
of years of broken promise
yet — I will find it again
~ Lesley Duncan is the woman who wrote this beautiful song above. I personally hear it, not about romantic love, but humankind’s higher love for each other — the love that will foster and insure peace and understanding on the planet… wouldn’t that be truly amazing. It has never happened before globally. What a worthwhile miracle to pursue. Here below, Nick Lowe asks a simple but profound question, one that needs be asked. ~
“W hat do you mean”, Gwen implores, the strain obvious in her weary voice, “who has taken Derek — and why?” The thought overwhelms her. She feels the grip of exhausting panic.
Turning from Zack, she walks to the moonlit window, listening to the waves crash far below. Deflated, she stares resigned. Pinprick flickers sparkle the night sky. “What does it matter? That the stars we see are already dead is a given. I pray not so for Derek.”
Trying to understand the events that brought her to this place in time, her head is spinning. She feels fatigue deep in her bones.
“Too many mysteries to unravel right now,” mumbling to herself, “better in the morning.” Her left arm drops, right hand squeezes the mysterious note that has triggered her distress. She stumbles across the room, collapses on her bed, and begins to quietly cry.
an old man with a flower — sits on a bench
marveling at the petals — feeling drained
the dream faded of a would-be spaceman
mysteries of the universe — unexplained
his body bent by the weight of worry
he reflects in the stars — feels pained
wondering if everything he let get lost
was really worth what it was he gained
True wilderness
is an integral part of my soul
first etched into my essence
by my adoptive father in 1951
I was four-years-old
I discovered this bliss
deep in the Canadian forests
two weeks every year
immersed in the beauty of Ontario
exploring remote lakes
traversing wild streams
fishing
hiking
camping
totally off the grid
no phones
no TV
no electricity
it was glorious
but for me
my xanadu
lay at the end
of a long exciting journey
on water
from Lehman’s Landing
the little provisions station
where we put in our boat
to begin the journey
they also sold gas
kerosene
block ice
food staples
and basic medical supplies
this was the last outpost
that could be reached by car
after 3 hours from Espanola
on primitive Ontario forest road
mostly sand an gravel
hard packed into the Canadian soil
by years of loggers and fisherman
the water journey involved portaging
and careful hand-poling
I loved the adventure of it
as did my dad
portaging a chain of pristine lakes
poling through boulder strewn narrows
to reach a beloved destination
the small private island
my father co-owned
with a wonderful Canadian family
the Disanti’s
rising on that island
was in my eyes
a magical chateau
an amazing wilderness cabin
hand-built of self-cut logs
the home and hearth
that will forever
hold a precious part
of my fragile heart
inside its pine log walls
stacked
notched
and pegged walls
a huge wood-burning stove
black iron and bold
with imposing strong legs
powerfully flexed and arched
lifting the mass in steady grip
it was the warm heart
of the love-filled cabin
it cooked the fish we caught
and small game dad hunted
in the wild forests
just across the crystal clear
glacier cold lake
stoked with kindling
and hand-split logs
collected in the forests
thick across the lake
big black also generously
offered the enveloping caress
and impeccable comfort of its warmth
a small hand-hewn log
and sawdust ice house
was nestled conveniently out back
hand-built to sustain perishable foods
it was fresh stocked each week
large ice blocks
retrieved in a 6-hour round trip
to and from Lehman’s Landing
two hand-built log & plank docks
one each side of our island
made access and egress effortless
for these provision runs
which included food and fuel
in addition to the block ice
the granite island itself
a bit under an acre in size
was covered in tufts of scrub grass
bracken fern
black rock and warrior moss
and wild ground-cluster blueberries
also, the remaining stand of white pine
mostly felled to build the cabin
and a small lawn of Kentucky bluegrass
imported to grace the front porch
pure glacial drinking/cooking water
came right out of the lake
waking up to meet the sunrise
found the cozy cabin
falling into a Canadian morning chill
the sound of lake loons
echoing across the water
through the morning mist
the smell of bacon
eggs and potatoes
beginning to permeate
the warming cabin
were intoxicating
these are treasured memories
memories of the place
that endure
that live
and will forever live
in my heart
as does the precious memory
of my beloved adoptive father
who introduced me
as a child
to this wild
beautiful
exhilarating
paradise
The burst of cherry blossoms outside my window, always heralds an uplift in my mood. Their bright blooms bring a lightness to my spirit, that puts a smile in my heart. Their delicate countenance speaks to me of peace and gentle beauty, while the heady fragrance stirs thoughts and feelings of love.
They deliver me from the doldrums of winter into the joys of the unfolding spring, celebrating renewal and new possibility. The time of cherry blossoms is a sacred time of transcendence, to be honored and embraced with gratitude, for the blessing of rebirth. May this stricken world find rekindled hope.
sweet pink blossoms burst
red spring buds have spread their wings
my heart is reborn
Ottavo Rima As nightmares emerge in dark midnight hours
the weakest among us, withdraws and cowers
we forfeit our pride, and wilt like dead flowers
as the chill settles ‘round us we lose our nerve
it’s then our lesser self, we begin to serve
blackness deflates us, the night noise grates us,
our hidden ghost of guilt, haunts and berates us
we’re certain a gothic demon awaits us
but with a bit of courage, backbone and guts
we might find some peace in our breakfast grape-nuts
U nfurling linearity
accumulating into the future
tethered to a uniform past
paralyzed in the now
over and over
repeating in my head
these same odd words
this same strange vision
a visual drone
over and over
unfurling linearity
accumulating into the future
tethered to a uniform past
paralyzed in the now
always the same fevered dream
this inflexible fear
I am fallen paralyzed
unable to lift my head
then I see coming
ever coming
falling slowly
out of the mist
drifting down
always coming
menacingly
unsmiling
faces
coming down
I want to rise up
run at them
scream at them
shake them
but I cannot
I cannot
then a low drone
a haunting chorus of voices
I’m going
going mad I think
then I scream out
in my smothering nightmare
“I’m going mad
absolutely mad!”
suddenly
in voiced unison
“yes Asimo
you are going mad”
“Asimo” I shout back
“my name is not Asimo”
then comes again
the unified voice
a disembodied voice “oh, but we are all Asimo now”
“no” I cry out
“please go away
leave me alone
what do you want!”
“want?
why — you Asimo…
we want you”
“I think you’re all crazy”
in my dream
my head’s tilted back
angrily shouting
“no no Asimo, you are — thinking?
there’s no thinking —
just being comfortably tethered…
tethered to our uniform past
safe in our rigid now
unfurling into our linear future”
