Backwoods

farmhouse by the side of the road

dogs loved and lost

sumac fading to rose

where have you been?

what have you been told?

a warm rain dribbles on my mountain pained skin

alerting me…simplicity must come around again

there has been no shame to the backroads, traveled from within

lost in the wandering towards autumn’s color

reminds me of the hot touch of sun on cotton

have I traveled so far that there maybe a rejection of nature’s law

or, is there possibility that I can wait until spring’s thaw?

Write to Wander

write to wander 4

It is a time to time

One of a kind..

ZEN.

Echoed places joined by lost traces.

Occasional small town places

filled with

postcards, wildlife…

kind native faces.

Here and there.

All in one plots of…

not so fallen graces.

write to wander 4I am the trapped stone beneath the

fallen tree trunk and her roots.

Peacefully

unaware

of things

left to do.

‘Had a nightmare last night…about having nothing to write about. No more, needs, wants, take or give. No love or hate! This morning I began to think about the squirrels nesting in our trees. How they are throwing acorns down at me…taunting me in protest of their lack of food. As typical, my mind wandered to such things as; what is the gestation period of a squirrel? Why are they so loud when they are giving birth? Which sex, male or female…goes out and brings the ‘acorn’ home? And, which sex gets to play stay at home parent? And, suddenly, the nightmare went away. And, the writer’s world became…okay!’

-Robert Frost-

Franconia Notch NH

To Earthward

Robert Frost Farm Franconia NH the Earthward
Robert Frost Farm
Franconia NH
to Earthward

Where the Wind Blows

winds-2

I ache, like the fallen tree before me.

These farming fields so…solemn, soulful and, slightly…alone.

Peace is here.

It is in the catching of our breath.

Flying on gusts for a thousand miles.

I could find the unity…

If, the terrain, and I, were all that is left.

It has been windy here.

Seems…for a whole life.

Perhaps, that is what feeds a New England appetite.

 

Adrift in His Visions

I knew I had the opportunity to be like him…willing to sink others so I could swim

When adrift in the vision would become static and differed

There stood feelings of shaken roots and birch trees twisted and stirred

Soon all became dusted with rust and more and more obscured

Being safe among and within four walls left me hanging on ragged noose

complicit but loose

Beating back indifference by way of my own blood

Compiling foundations of steady mistrust on top of ‘what is love’

I know I am different from him

I have walked the needled path daily with one leg falling behind

Alert to the triggers of his vanity weaving in and out of my mind

Why go to the woods?

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms…Henry David Thoreau

Why do I go to the woods? The nature of things will always understand me better than I know myself.