Tag Archive: nature


Bi-Polar part two

Where it starts

Parents sat their infant on the land and smiled, Build a house. Milk dripped along the fattened grooves of baby’s cheeks. His first thought, the most important question of all: How? Parents shuffled backward and smiled, Build your house. They threw these thoughts back and forth; each time parents stepped away. Wind played with baby’s hair, swayed the grass, across fields freckled with apple trees, pine trees, elm trees—the trees hung, bent like truth; they hugged, danced with laughter near water.

Cardinals brought the infant berries with the sun. White wolves slept curled around him: warm undulating breath, comfortably dirty fur, protective with the moon. He asked the birds and wolves, How? They answered as the river did—with a blissful shh. Parents provided the river; it soothed his throat, cleaned his skin, urged him to listen. He learned fire from lightning, imagination from clouds, and found tools scattered across the fields, beneath unruly trees.

As wilderness grew through his mind, he grew strong, chopped and shaved trees, hauled them home, and built his walls. Why the boards tumbled, he couldn’t understand. The teenager never learned of foundations, pillars—only walls. He worked fast, so fast that he balanced a roof atop the walls before they could fall. But the roof failed to hold the wind, and spilt the walls.

Parents hid books and music instruments, stacked them against trees. The young man tried these for support, propped the books, hooked the saxophone, tied guitar strings in complicated knots around the boards. Wind brought it all down again. Every storm collapsed the roof, broke his body. But he found more gifts in the fields: engines, tires, pencils, paper; and he found more friends: ducks who taught him to dance, turtles who showed him patience.

No matter what, the roof cascaded when the wind shifted. Aches spread from the man’s body to his mind, a sickness of mood and focus that cycled in and out of his control and understanding. Covered in stripped, collapsed wood, the remains of ever-shifting wind, he still asks, How?

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When I Meditate…

White wolf swallows me

into black. Water plinks

in black. My bare knees

slide on mold. Light

bends the corner—a cave.

My cave. The light comforts

forward-slipping fingers

like music, thoughtful notes

balanced. Cave’s mouth

stalactites like teeth.

 

Out.

A stream, simple, quiet

and behind it every shade of green:

hills wild with grass, hush of pine

needles drug my sway in time

with theirs, resuscitated by the wind’s

soulful solar breath. Through high

reaching distant mountains I gather

clouds and massage from them

a warm rain. Cleansed and newborn.

 

Missing my friend

Sunny summer day,
barefoot pond Sparkles
turtle head Bobs fingers
Plow, Aimless mechanical
rivets for knuckles. duck
with broken leg barely waddles—
to swim, Ecstasy! Float on feathers
Ride the ripples, fingers rip
children Tear
across the grass, puppies,
frisbies: Brand New Hearts.

winged flock in squawk formation
Flutters perfectly, lands Flawlessly
breaking as they swim. Weary
from flight, they Cheer the pond.
feathers Stuff a Heart that Forgot
forgiveness, lighten, release
the heart, supplicant hands Open.
legs crossed. to lotus. to east. trees
sway, trawl for Pulse and Breath.

water in the air, satin mist:
Green, Blue, and White, Breathe
the water. muse’s face Shimmers
in duck’s wake; her voice,
chorus of birds: Forgive Me.

Forgive yourself.
Forgive the breeze that Churns the storm,
the Indefatigable grass that Never stops growing,
the ripple that builds and waves, Monsoon!
Forgive the dogs’ bark, the ducks’ squawk:
we do these things
because That’s What We Do.