Poetry

Sept. 2010

Well, i've signed myself up to do more than i really want to. Maybe it will prove beneficial in the long run though. I am writing for publication in the local poetry newsletter and helping to edit it for incoming poems too. i have also joined a group of poets for twice monthly critique meetings. Additionally, I am submitting to magazines who, of course, don't pay.

I have printed and bound three volumes of poetry of my own and have them for sale. It seems though, that the majority of readers in America don't really want to buy poetry. Guess i am just too old for the present generation. Ah well, life moves onward all the time.

Most of my poetry is very short and meant to evoke emotional reverie in the reader. Occasionally I find a longer poem emerging, and I will share one of those here on this page.

Deep Forest

Icy waters numb my feet in the stream.
I am seeking agates reputed to live here...
Ancient stones, untouched by man their entire lives,
Not yet taken.
Splashy light, not captured by pine boughts
Sings silently and blindingly on surgings and ripples,
Dancing, free from gravity.
Reflections hide boulders from cramping toes.
A cool silence of forest depths, dark as twilight,
Stills the mind, slows concerns,
Ignores the worlds and worries of city people.

A squirrel sits up to watch me,
His seat a rock for centuries unmoved,
Upholstered in gree moss, many-hued.
I feel ungainly, an intruder,
Yet held softly as a wandering child
By the forest spirit,
Loved, long-lost.

I leave the stream to surrender my stiff and heavy body
To the forest loam.
Lying on my back, the sky appears to be
Held up by treetops, all sharp and black,
Pinned in place.

But then a black birdshape crosses over
And suddenly the sky is deep as illusion.
I turn my head to share this wonder
But the squirrel has moved on,
Eager to gather the crop
The trees have produced just for him.

I smile, saturated with peace.