Tag Archives: nature

The Rain Barrel

Hard times like wine on the skin,
some blush between the discarded inhibitions.
Verdant memories soaking in slowly,
like ancient intercontinental trade routes;
the silent contents growing louder with history,
as too the benefits.

On sunny days, while grace shines upon us,
the vessel looks out of place.
Less than useless, an abuse of the time we have,
to remind us of the times we hate.
It aches in the light, becoming brittle planks,
on which our eyes will walk briefly,
and plunge into the depths of the day,
escape or drown, it’s all the same.

But on those rainy days they come to collect
all our troubles overflowing,
and they tell stories only the rain can hear;
thunderous applause after each quiet punchline.

It is dangerous to consume what the sky gives us,
for it may return our own gifts.

Lake Champlain in Autumn

Sky over sky-
the heavens reflected;
mercurial madness
overcomes the water
in a fit of serenity
                      for who knows how long now.
                Hours are indiscernible from minutes,
                from time
                from deeply held passions.
Where the two suns meet-
there is fire.

Coffee

Like boulders tumbled end over
                                          end
until hard sharp edges are rounded
                  soft
pebbles
        that flow over the hand
                as the water that birthed them.

Then ground into rich soil
                    vibrant, dark
            eager to grow into something beautiful
                        to taste a set of lips
                  and rest there
                            taste again
      and settle warmly inside.

Each morning
            I embrace that glow
        as it embraces me
  and feel the day blossom.

Conquering Mt Katahdin

Teeth grind against time, older than heart beats;
bury themselves in the nape of the world
and through that grit they grunt back, “I dare you,”
so in droves we come to mine from them ‘truth.’

But ‘truth’ does not move through time as we do.
Desperate for relevance in our space,
we seek stability in the journey;
while what is true finds no movement worthy.

Thus those mandibles remain static
while we struggle for purchase against them;
should we win, overcoming their long face
we will have, in the end, lost the race.

The drums of victory may course in our veins
as we stand atop the corpse of impulse
to reflect on the unconquerable
hoping someday to be ponderable,

yet our triumph is too brief a passing
to reconcile against the scales of time,
like a flash of lightning through the night sky;
radiance wasted in a blink of an eye.

Photograph by David Wilson

Stepping out of the Woods

Trees as thick as grass
bundled together hiding the sky
at night though
stars shine through

One could get lost in there
one could find something profound in there
in the morning
hidden passions
light the canopy like green fire

An untold history crackles beneath feet
crisp with the anxiety of breaking, unresolved
twilight is a pleasant mystery
whispers of color in silent darkness
the fauna changing shifts
timorous insects take flight.

A bright pink cross sanctifies the bark of each tree
some sign of an afterlife that none could imagine
The end is violent and sterile
the ground stripped bare
the canopy pulled back to blue skies
broken by contrails and wires
soon to be hidden in property
too expensive for anyone to live in
just dying slowly,
paycheck to paycheck.

A Gathering

The sound the shovel makes against the earth
feels like a baseball caught in a glove,
it feels like green lights or a found quarter.

The dirt looks like moist brownies
fresh and rich with delicious darkness
a curated destination for well off worms

The broken grass looks no worse
a verdant shag of carpet deep and vibrant
a parade of party poppers exploding green.

A good place to bury a friend
though they’ll never know it.

Enfield, NH

The wind is howling
white noise
             percussion against the window pains
the sound outside fighting to get in

             Could it be the warmth of the fire?
                           the dead trees split and parched
                                        combust and conspire
             to put the whole place to flames
if only they could
             transcend the bricks between them.

Some are born to burn
             others are made to build

Still others are outside
                           in the moonlight
             battling with the turmoil

Silence can be so loud in an empty house
             too afraid to burn.

Ursa Major

Its thick fur haloed by beads of water
the monster stands patient in the river
a nearby lake’s errant playful daughter
filled with light and fish to make it quiver.
The beast stares through the shimmering surface
at silver spears darting this way and that
their panicked movements desperate and nervous
in pursuit of another habitat.

She brings her paw down like catastrophe
the rushing water erupts in violence
and the fish begs the beast for amnesty
but the giant gives only its silence.
The hunger is real and evening is nigh
there are cubs to be fed hiding close by.