FIRST STEPS


 

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Curious innocence goes wide eyed forward

Slow, searching for the familiar

Quick to stop. like a wild animal

catching a scent in the wind

or wolf eyes moving past the immediate

into the woods deep with a rustle

of leaves and the snap of a twig

Fear gives sway to return the

few steps taken from all she knows

in this forest that has her alone

Unaccompanied .

Her only friend an old pine tree

that whispers it’s branches in her ears

waves it spiky fullness over her new awareness

ripples it’s bark  to reassure her

Purrs like a kitten to comfort her.

It coos the story of where the sky

hums it’s bluest self, with the golden

orb flourishing the land beyond the woods

that is parted by the whimpering river

that babbles with the telling stones.

A stone  will lead you to the place of Others.

Take this branch as proof of me to you

and the staff that is of the Others

My roots run deep and with others

They will bring you there and back

and everywhere that needs going

in the to and from.

With the tingle of feet to earth

Earth to roots signals the way.

In the pivot and move

Caroline listens far for the whimper

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Filed under MICHIGAN POET, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month, Uncategorized, YPSILANTI MICHIGAN

CHOSEN


 

white pine forest

What is it to be chosen?

Pulled through a portal rife

Same to same and different

Breath has returned steady

and the heart beats back to itself.

~

Eyes track slow left to right

noticing how a forest looks like a forest

And the sun dapples the green

in shadow and light.

Senses rush to meet the moment

in this awakening

~

With trees that smell like

sunrise and baked bread

and a sky that fills your nose

with the smell of mown grass

and sweet honey

~

Birds give their song to wings

That sing in the wind, tree to tree

A squirrel fills your mind with

forest talk of nuts and fruit and

that water is down that path

and just over the hill.

~

Innocence has no answers

to this same and different.

Leaning alone against

this old tree that purrs like a cat

and fills the shock with the tender

comfort of a mother’s lullaby.

~

Caroline pushes her body against

the tree letting the comforting resistance

pull her wobbly legs to a stand.

“That way” fills her mind and

the feel of bark pushes her forward.

~

~

~

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OTHERSIDE


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In the the tangle of roots and leaf

in the quiet of wood and bark

In the smell of pine and earth

Eyes fly wide open in a gasp

Life force resumes in the push

of breath ballooning lungs

with tingling cells in the rush

of blood from heart to head

From a slow to nothing return

Life racing, racing.

The restraint of wood and roots

ease with her steady heart beat

and the even flow of air to lungs.

What was before her eyes only

moments ago assure her

she is where she began in the so-it-seems

The Light hangs differently

Wind tickles her edges

and the silence has no voice

in the birds and scamper of

squirrels and rabbits.

“Mother, Mother. leaps from her lips

eyes darting in the familiar unfamiliar

The fine carriage and horses

nowhere to be seen,

No road, No human presence

The ocean sparkles in the distance.

Aloneness is a quiver inside rising.

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Filed under FANTASY, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month, NATURE, Uncategorized

TAKEN


 

SHADOWTREE4

me n’ my shadow

Like stiff arms wanting

Rough bark pulls at my coat

It pulls at my leather boots

it pulls at my heavy silk dress

lacing the weave of roots around

my thin legs.

~

It pulls in a hungry way

Like me being soft food

melting into the roughness

Silencing the scream that

leafs into my mouth

full of green and twig

The choke of it fills me with new life,

in the absorb of ancient familiar

There is no fight. No flight

turning to wood, to root, to bark

~

In the distant call of a name

I know to be a dozen lifetimes ago

Eyes blurring in a cave of

squirrel and nuts

And in the scent of forest wood,

laid to mossy green on the spike

carpet of rusty needles

Pine to Earth meets to the  surrender

all that was once of me.

 

~~~~

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SHE JUMPS.


SHE JUMPS

There is no joke to the leap

A Fool

morgan greer deck

might you be laughing.

There is no seriousness to the leap

might you be glib

Maybe it is the jump into

what seems void and empty

that stirs and provokes

~

Maybe what can’t be seen

or held, or appears to not be able

to be stashed, or carried

In the tunic, the sash,

the tight fitting pants,

Or that tattered pouch on a stick

slung aimlessly over the shoulder

holding nothing but stones

and poetry , a sprig of love

and a twig of fear, the sound of

Eternity’s enchantment whispering

~

Might these hold you to the limited belief

that what needs having to leap into Life

Is not had for such emptiness

So much unknown-ness,

So much riskiness

So much fool hardiness

into the boundless void.

~

Ah, for the little dog called Loyal

Faithful innocence of joy and the moment

Instinctual knowing in the

Wisdom of Love unconditional

~

And she listen to the talisman pouch

as it whispers the certainty of what is unseen

in the infinite beyond.

It gives call to the Alchemical

process of the impossible mixed with the

improbable.

~

She Jumps

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Filed under APRIL FOOL, FOOL, Fool's journey, Uncategorized

IN THE VULNERABLE SILENCE


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In the grey sky, tinged with morning pink
Vulnerable are the trees in silhouette
Naked against Winter’s austerity
Leafless against the bitter cold

Roots buried deep in the frozen earth
The life blood slowed in the quietude
Staunch in the willingness to wait
For the tilt of the Earth to call to Spring

Humans know none of this at their root
Such vulnerability to Winter’s quest
For silence and the slow beat of living
Wrapped in layers of cotton and wool

Skin is not like bark to a tree
No leaves for us to lose in wait to return
Nor does our root bury itself deep
No such attachment to one place

We are of stars and wander-lust
Held to gravity and ancient stories
Held to search for what settles our root
To this short stay on this blue marble

That for today, awakens to a grey sky
With a tinge of pink in sunrise
As this season of bitter cold cycles
in the reminder of vulnerable silence

by    jeanne adwani

~~~

Just riding 
by the cornfields
Seven crows 
sitting 
in a silver tree

by
A.M. Salt

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Filed under Uncategorized, VULNERABLE SILENCE, Winter poem, WINTER.


23 Dec. 2017

Todays blog includes a friend/author of mine, with the pseudo name, A.M. Salt.  We will be sharing my blog for the next month or so.  Enjoy our different styles, our different ways we find ourselves calling up the words that feel like they need saying.

snow ponies

WHAT WE IMAGED

EMPTY PRESENCE

Vast is the presence of the infinite
Empty in the unknown
Spacious beyond comprehension

Waiting for a message
Fingertips poised for the tap
The mundane gathers the call

Waiting for the whisper of a gift
Feeling the sureness of words
That the cosmos will deliver

Hard is the buzz of the amour stink bug
In the immediacy of the invite
Hidden in the folds of the curtains

The winged buzz threatens a landing
Breaking into Empty presence
A thief of the silent waiting.

Hands and arms flapping it away
Utterances of unkindnesses
Knowing the creepy feel of that crawl

The awareness now seeks to awaken
This traveler that meets the intrusion
with resistance and a curse

What say you armored bug?
Gift me with your presences
Share the vastness of this Now

I give you freedom in winter chill
As the last bit of life of you
Speaks to the One Heart

In the Empty presence of
The vastness that is in All
Wisdom is in everything

Jeanne Adwani

* * * * * * * *

If I ever forget
the trout that rose
behind the biggest stone
in the middle of the stream
near Whitefish
the year that just my Mother and I
went to fish camp

Remind me, would you?

Its snout surfaced
to take a Blue Olive
drifted just so over the top of the rock
and spilled into the eddying pool.
Remind me how the orange maples’
reflection shone on its back.

A.M. Salt

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Filed under a poem a day. Michigan poet, a sacred life, jeanne adwani, Jeanne Beauchamp, MICHIGAN POET, NATURE, Uncategorized, Winter poem, YPSILANTI MICHIGAN, Ypsilanti Poet