Acorns

Thoughts dance below a moon
-lit stage as shadows are often
fueled by the penetrating gaze.
Lonely grey squirrel pulled the curtain
strings revealing an acorn audience splitting
lively to witness what endangered feel,
open arterials flowing like the gutted
sacrificed life-giving white-tail.
Cycled nourishment wake is released
from the breaching trout for the pure
to face down into the trough and feed
digesting a contagious virus
capable of sun rises.

Let's Think of Each Other

In the east we will rise, casting spring renewal

Breathe; I will fill your lungs as you blossom

surrounding me with pure vibrancy.

With the bright sound of a cardinal

I will greet you every morning.

Carrying forth, one great star hangs

to soothe our souls, emitting gleams

of reminders, bringing life to a green

flourish. Let me be the perspiration

that trails along your soft skin as you wave

with a fierce feather floating towards earth.

I will smile at you with subtle warming

colors that reflect in your eyes as we turn,

away from summer the days grow shorter

returning kind gestures with every retiring leaf.

I comfort you within the darkness, lips meeting

with the crisp fresh air establishing an interest

in the bleak completion of a full rotation.

I will follow your path with every fresh layer

of white as I trek through the nourishment

you lay before me in the west, as we set,

let's think of each other.

Germination

Nestled in a woodland fortress,

I explored the soil in solitude.

Mind soaring over plentiful green

and scattered wildflowers.

Studying the terrain as one

prepares for blindness.

Remember to cross the carpet

of moss and pass the scent of mint,

just beyond the toad grove you enter

a protective retreat of spruce confusion.

Crafted skill of a fresh rain

stream to smooth clay and stone

or design the foundation for which I stand

a calm yet fierce erosion.

Not a swallow too high,

Grub too deep,

I planted my soul,

The earth to keep.

Infidel

I tried - forgive my fading ember.

For you I'd face the fire and sulfur,
But all I saw was languishing ember.

A sudden cold rain has enlivened me,
Extinguishing what's left of the ember.

This canoe was not meant for open sea,
As it now lies submerged with the ember.

Fire reborn, visible light you feel,
Please accept my faith among the ember.

Nineteen Eleven

I stared at the red soil –

feeling accomplished and proud.

Ironic to see death in soon growth,

a sense of gratitude emitted

from my natural surroundings.

One-hundred years of faithful

service perfectly exemplified

in an ominous single-action.

The doves fluttered at the crack

and rumble of a wise thoroughbred.

With a rooted grip, I leveled the sites

like a planted field of symmetry.

The powerful figure trembled

like a kicked hound at the smooth

racking of a maintained slide.

My poise remained as balanced as

a peregrine with the weighted

click of seven horsemen.

John Browning’s most distinct breed

solidly clutched in my hand.

Canola, soy, corn. Wheat is next

to be destroyed by greed.

I will enforce the laws of nature

with pure fertilization, planting a permanent 

seed in our land of excess.

Rising Dissipation

While  surrounded  by  dark,  vivacious  warmth  glistens  my  skin.

Torrid souls blindly rise, an  endless  escape  of  consuming  heat.

Haphazard  crackling  inspirits  the  muted  stars  watchful  gaze.

I  prod  the  bloom of destructive  freedom  with fieried  patience.

Instantaneous bursts of firefly animation dance in glossy eyes

igniting the brush of stressful dampening like dried kindling.

The  charred  perception  within  me  is  released  with

every  swarming  death of fallen life  –  Behind  –

the cold damp air lingers amongst the nearly

spring chorus greeting the night.

I stoke and study the thriving

design, while the stalker

waits for the vitality

to  dwindle.

"We must uncenter our minds from ourselves. We must unhumanize our views a little and become confident as the rock and ocean that we are made from." - Robinson Jeffers

Joining the Bears

Finally   leaving  that  damp   and  dark

     cave as often left before.

The  yearly  trip  to  despondency   with

              return, pure and enlivened.

Distending  hoarseness,  my  insides  out

          scratched, weary, no comfort.

Time  for  a  change, dropping  clear  and

          refreshing, growing forth the

living inspiration left   for months  leaning

              against the dark cave door.

The   lingering   aphotic   drab  has shaded

              engrossing vibrant growth.

Seeing flourishing infancy, and abandoned

                 art under dawning hands.

Precipitate and return my downstream flow

                of idealism, for now I see

the beauty in hibernation.