Tag: Art

Destinations

Work From rain and melted snow To find a way to the creek. To a stream, in a hurried dash to the ocean   And here I stand, with bits of waterfalls trapped, inside buckets. My shoes.   Soggy, wicking socks Make close friends… Continue Reading “Destinations”

Cruel River

This river runs cruel… This river runs cold. I know she’s lost in this wilderness, where the lakes are silent, dampened by snow. Here, she walks on the edge of everything.   This river will meet the sea, that’s where all lies cease, for… Continue Reading “Cruel River”

Traveling Near the Dark

There’s a quietness about the river broken by a random leap, splash of steelheads. a prairie hawk loses a feather. The natives drink a loud liquor on their fishing platforms, dip nets looking for fish who choose to become parts of ceremonies.   The… Continue Reading “Traveling Near the Dark”

Wet Hands

If your hands come away wet Then you know you drink With passion   Click on image to enlarge. Lost Lake, Oregon.          

Living With The Volcano

A wide emptiness sits over Spirt Lake from Harry’s Ridge to Harmony Lake Viewpoint. An emptiness of vast distance with stars or sun, clouds and wind…a series of personalities, always in the process of change, threatens to knock all thought out of you. You… Continue Reading “Living With The Volcano”

Scapegoat’s Paradox

Holding it in, close, became a strength An essence, a nugget, bloom’s heart Shaped by chinks, cracks, and splits Of a shell you wished was a softer hue.   Relinquished, expelled, produced a body The lucid form of your careful ambiguity From a cold… Continue Reading “Scapegoat’s Paradox”

Mild Streak

Rain stopped Forced spring out for a day.   Winter is an ideal With a harsh streak of delirium.      

Naming Creeks

The creek isn’t cruel by not knowing my name. Even though, I have known its name all my life. On walks, I still follow its voice, soothed by its flow. I won’t ask it to know me. I’m okay with being an eternal stranger… Continue Reading “Naming Creeks”

Wet Pine Needles

Running the brittle floor—upon leaves settled to soil. With mild hands wandering—through air and pressed sunlight. Becoming branches—breaching the film of moist sky. Clinging to winter’s sun—lucent thoughts, fictile. Moving with the wildness—of the warm, fragile body. Its abstractions of molds—ravines, dips, and death.… Continue Reading “Wet Pine Needles”

Ghost Story For The Wilderness Impaired

She’s a ghost. I know that. She brushes her fingers along my shoulders and I will look up to find her playing among the trees, pretending to be the wind. She’ll drop a pinecone or a small branch as a reminder. Then, off she… Continue Reading “Ghost Story For The Wilderness Impaired”

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