Poem One

I sit in a moist rich forest, black flies continually clustering around my head…
A gentle breeze and bird song.
It rained heavy here last night, so much that it still clings to the Earth.
This morning has been full of surprises…
I spotted morels on the path.
Their wonderful brainy mass protruding from the ground…
Which sent the class into squeals of delight.
The other surprise came as orcadis fabtabulous
Pale pink tear drops against a pale green… such a dream.
What else will we find hidden amongst the litter of the forest floor?

poempoemPoem Two

I watch the water in great torrents throw itself forward
Over stones covered in vibrant green, furry moss…
A secret palace filled with tiny intricate moss nooks.
I imagine that tiny people must live here…
In the steps nearby the waterfall…
Here they must journey to the small vernal pools where they take their baths…
Here where they gather to eat lunch…
The old ones sit in a circle on the sphagnum moss,
And the little ones venture off into the taverns to play their make believe games.
I sit in contemplation pondering this mysterious green world…
Only to be completely mystified.


poemPoem Three

I sit in the sanctuary of my room, my back supported by the bed frame.
My friend, sprawled out on my bed…
Gentle stream music playing on my phone…
While outside birds eagerly trill and a soft breeze eases its way through my window.
I have always been obsessed with color, and my friend is engulfed in the blues
And purples of my quilts and tapestries.
I feel present right now, feeling so alive this afternoon.
My friend and I, walked through the blazing sun, along a dirt road trying to find Whitney brook.
We got lost temporarily but eventually hooked up with another friend and continued to the brook.
Upon getting there I was hot and sticky.
I felt a calm wash over me, as we walked along the path beside the brook…
Occasionally brushing my hand against a cedar tree.
We found the spot where the water rushes off a series of rocks into a pool.
A couple other Sterling students were already there, relaxing in the water.
In the water, relieved, my body cooled down.
Something about the brook made me feel raw and alive.
I remember fondly, visiting last fall semester and feeling immensely grounded.
The spirit of the brook sending an ancient pulse through me that completely centered and humbled me.
Today is different, in that I feel this pulse through being in the water.
Feeling the shock of the cool water droplets against my sun cooked skin.
The pulse also came through the connection I felt with my friends.
It was joyful being able to experience this raw feeling with them.
Connection and rawness…
The breeze splaying my white tunic behind me, as if I were flying…
My friend, my sweet brother holding my hand on the walk back…
Resting my head on his lap on the car ride back…
Watching as the canopy of green passed by…
Resting his hand on my leg, as he peacefully closes his eyes and rests,
this blissful Sunday afternoon.
I imagine this is how our ancestors once used to live.
Present… focusing only on each moment…
Relying on one another, living together in harmony…
Running through the woods like deer,
swimming , canoeing, fishing in the rivers, telling stories around a fire,
And laying in the tall grasses watching the stars.
It’s as if all these images filter through me, pouring into me as if I am one large vessel.
The energy of what has come before, the wisdom of the Earth and the plant people…
And the interconnectedness I feel with the Earth, the spirits and my people.
I feel the pulse like a drum, beating steadily as I feel the surge of love that fills me for this all,
this universe, these beings.

Ode to the Blue Spruce

Oh Blue Spruce,
The color of your new growth leaves me in awe.
A pale green blue that sends trembles up and down my arms.
I never knew you before these two weeks, but now you feel like a close friend…
One who I would say hello too every time I passed the dining hall.
It comforts me to to touch your soft new tips..
Your soft new tips so soft and delicate,
Azuredly complex.
I have to admit that I am obsessed with you, you are good at so many things!
Your are good in Lollipops, soda pop, and wild yeast.
Soon you will be featured in my dish for our wonderful feast.
Your mystery eludes me,
A pale beauty with a blue green complexion…
As deep and marvelous as the ocean.
An evergreen forest against a pale white snow…
A crisp, deadly frozen breeze against an elven forest…
A maiden wanders alone through the woods,
Clad in heavy furs, snowshoes trekking through the deep snow.
Her blue-green eyes shine out amongst her pale face and dark brown hair.
She hums softly to herself, as she walks through the tall giants.
She knows the ways of the deep forest, how to survive through the bitter cold.
I am thankful for her wisdom, and for her guidance.
Thank you Blue Spruce for all that you know,
And for what you mean to me.

poemFeast Day

There is strong anticipation growing in the kitchen,
None in which I have ever felt before.
People whisk in and out, occasionally checking on their dishes.
The table is set at its finest.
Tender ferns, Balsam Fir, Pine and Cedar spread out in a circle,
Pine cones, stones and bark sprinkled just so.
We wait in anticipation to gather what we have made, and lovingly bring it into the world.
Celebrating its existence by showering it in nature’s best finery.
And then when the time is right, devour it, like the ravenous birds that we are.
We become wild through eating the food that the mother has provided us.
We become the beings that we were meant to be,
Spiraling into the ecstasy that we ourselves created.
How do we continue?
How do we move on after this point?
We wake every morning and we say thank you.
We bless the ground we walk on…
We bless the air, the evening air, that we walk through and sing.
That’s all we can really do, to stay present and grounded.
Even better is to allow ourselves to be nourished by our mother, and to be satiated in her love.
And the love that holds us all.
The  love that holds us all..
Throughout dark and light,
Throughout time and space,
We are held in the mother’s palms.
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