Category: My “poetry”

Like ancient warriors
set adrift,
we haunt
these trails
circling aimlessly,
alone,
or accompanied
by some four-footed friend
who seems to think
guarding these woods
Is our job.

Pausing
when we meet
to exchange greetings
with strangers
or fond fare well’s
to old companions,
we talk about
the sun
or, more llkely,
here, at least,
the rain.

We cling
to these trails
as if
reluctant to leave
this ground,
as if
trying to build
new strength
for some
Greater Voyage
lying ahead.

Jutting
into Puget Sound
like a giant,
rude thumb,
this remnant
of ancient forests
refuses to succumb
to the blight
of ARSECO, Weyerhaeuser,
this City of Destiny.

Ringed by
million-dollar homes,
forced to endure
the indignity
of latex condoms
aluminum beer cans,
the land feigns
indifference,
concealing man’s neglect,
behind three-foot-high ferns.

Scarred by forest fires,
but saved from
ravaging chainsaws,
this forest quietly
harbors shy,
Pileated Woodpeckers
hammering in the distance
all day hunting insects
slowly devouring
towering Douglas Firs,
Western Red Cedars.

Sitting in the dark,
cavernous Goldendale
junior high auditorium
at five years old,
watching the magician’s
scantily-clad assistant
appear and reappear
at the magician’s will,
I knew
I wanted to be
a magician
long before I grew up.

At twenty five,
confident I’d finally
discovered
the most powerful
incantation of all,
I stood stunned
as I watched
love disappear,

my heart
silently repeating
the words “I love you,”
again and again.

Slow learner that I am,
at midnight I still sit
here in the half dark
pushing words
around the page,
half-believing
the right words
will make the pain
disappear,
will actually make,
love reappear,
again and again.

Younger,
full of passion
I scoffed at
settling
for less
than perfect.
No second-best
for me.
I’d do it
right,
or not at all.

Older,
realizing the gravity
of the situation,
knowing things
inevitably settle
in their own time
no matter
what we do,
I still fought
to hold up
my end
of the bargain.

In the end,
though,
settling
suddenly seems
not half-bad,
standing silent
as the meaningless
slips away,
mere sediment,
distilling to
pure essence,
aqua vitae.

What
needs to be,
resides
in the end.