Chapters

Just some random words strung together. This is something that’s been on my mind lately, as I’m in this transition period. I’m excited for the new, even as it means a lot of change. I like to think of change as not a loss of old experiences–what I’ve learned from those will live on in me forever–but the gaining of new ones: new knowledge, new hopes, new worlds to uncover. Even so, the reminder that some things do not change is a comforting one for me. I can’t build higher unless my roots stay strong.

This
is not
chapter one.
This is chapter eighteen.
And as it closes,
the page turns.
Another chapter opens,
but it builds on the pages before it.
The cascading waterfall of words
did not originate here,
nor will it end here.
Passing through,
but picking up new stones along the way–
fresh currents,
new fish to swim alongside.
Perhaps the salinity changes,
perhaps the direction.
Neither final nor familiar,
but not inconsequential either.
Change is inherent in growth.
Foundation holds fast, strong,
even as leaves change,
branches stripped or full
to meet the season.
Roots remain
even as I
stretch
toward the sky.

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November

Wind whips
the tips of trees
as the leaves
leap and swirl
dive and whirl
Scarlet corners brown and curl.
Grey sheets of rain batter the door
as fire crackles, safe from storm–warm
blackened wood smells of home,
yet even so,
my heart would roam.

Image result for fall storm

From the Ground Up: The Lessons of the Trees

Their roots are tangled, twisted,
knotty with age–
and with strength!
carving through soil and stone with power.
Inside the dappled land,
they loop together,
as if the trees were holding hands.

Their trunks a senseless-seeming maze
No wrong turns,
no blockades, except the ones
the earth has made.
Broad and defiant,
they stand,
proud, unmoving and
united in diversity.
Under the stars
they are as they are–

until they break.
Their branches sway,
supple and alive.
They are expression
barren to the sky,
Caretakers of the screech owl
and the robin
alike.

Their leaves are fragile,
victims of the wind,
but lovely.
Spinning, life-filled art of earth,
diffusing sunlight to the world:
They will bear the seeds–
The lessons of the trees.

trees 1

The Traveler – A Fall Poem

Most people wouldn’t notice him
Or it.
But he noticed
and therefore
did I.

It–swirling, spinning,
dipping, ducking, dancing–
it fluttered to the earth:
A paper-thin, delicate, dried-out thing
its curling corners
browning with age.

So was he!
Intricately wrinkled,
but in the best of ways.
You could see the smile lines
crinkling at the corners of his eyes–
those eyes!
Crystal and alive,
sharp and twinkling,
daringly saying,
“I may be old,
but I’m not dead yet!”
I wondered at those eyes.

Limber, he stooped,
and picked up the leaf–
careful not to let it crumble
as he shielded it from the breeze that had spurred
its flight to earth–
and stuck it in his hat.
It was jaunty and precarious.

Then off he strode,
that wrinkled traveler–
whistling!
And I remained,
swinging in the trees
(who were whispering)
and I not realizing
what it was I’d seen.

fall 6

A Collection of Descriptive Poems

“Storm”
A swirl of whirling wind-wind
A freely blazing rage
The sudden stunning lightning
Roaring rhythm to the rain.

“Woods”
Dazzling dappled sunlight
Through golden-greenish leaves
As spinning spiraled breezes
Stir the song into the trees.

“Twilight”
Nature races backwards
In orange and purple light;
Silent shadowed secrets
In the magic not-quite-night.