Snow Snow Snow

Posted by Jenn in Living Poetry
12 4th, 2010

My mind is full of snow.

Air turns soft with feathered light–
ten thousand stars falling to earth,
a nest of dreams in winter down,

nothing but stillness
and a heart hushed with wonder.

.



Heart

Posted by Jenn in Living Poetry
12 4th, 2010

Little wild song bird,
love is not a cage
but a nest
to which you return
day after day.

.



Tattoo

Posted by Jenn in Living Poetry
10 24th, 2010

Elvis Barukcic/AFP/Getty Images

Your touch
is like pen to paper
indelible on my skin,
a language of belonging
pressed deep into cells
and soul,
tattoo
forever marking me
as loved.

_



Appalachian Native

Posted by Jenn in Living Poetry
09 7th, 2010

Into the Appalachian wilderness,
no rules but the rule of the wild,
no god but the god of presence.

My nest is amidst dead leaves
where-ever I stop for sleep,
wandering all day to feed on nuts,
bitter fruit and sweet mountain waters.

Shedding my shell,
shedding the shackles of all I thought I knew

here the human creature
sinks back into the soil,
merging into bark texture,
mushroom, green leaf and bird.

Plans rot down,
expectations wear away like riverbanks,
a mountain of thoughts
transform
into trees.

At last, home.



Summer Hunt

Posted by Jenn in Living Poetry
04 26th, 2010

Humid air comes rolling in,
hair-curling moisture,
fine dew upon my face,
inhaling the scents of
another world
a summer world
a world heavily pregnant
amidst dark forest floors.

I have walked this world
every year
hunting for the hooded one
the hidden one
his name unnamable
save by midsummer trees.

Humidity makes me drowsy,
mind falling to the ground
under a stupor of heat
panting, licking cracked lips,
even the shade is heavy–
his weight upon my body,
the hunter down upon me
my skin to buckskin
where from his dark hood,
he looks me in the eyes
and claims my soul
for his own.

Humidity swelling,
I can hardly breathe
hardly move
for the weight of him
the weight of air
weight of the world
holding me here,
heaving doe
in mud and fallen oak leaves,

pressing down until
the clouds burst forth into rain
all
that
weight
falling
piercing
plummeting
to the earth,
sky, rent, apart,
by lightning’s blinding arrow,
hearts heaving, earth growling,
great Wind blows back his hood
his dark endless hood

I see him now
I see him for who he is
and find
the wild in me is real.



04 25th, 2010

Wind,
strong wind,
tell me,

are you
my true nature? –

my heart dispersing
like pollen
on the breeze

and every thought
a flutter,
leaves at evening

even my body
this earthen animal thing
bending
unbending
to the currents

as here
the invisible
becomes
visible

swelling up,
lungs, a balloon,
the full bull frog throat,
I am swollen with spirit
and feel as though I might explode

and in the same
moment
of fullness,
tension,
expansion,
the exhale arrives,
emptiness,
space,
a void unfurled.

I am not …
yet I am.

I cannot express
the fullness
of this being-ness
this such-ness.

Impregnated
by presence,
I am a dandelion gone to seed,
each breath
a step
towards birth.

Oh wind,
are you
my truest self?

Are you the freedom
in me
that breaks forth into flight?

Are you the restless waiting
for fuller presence?

Are you the silent listener
carrying all words at once?

Oh wind,
tell me,
when my last breath
rejoins
you,

will I finally
be
born?



04 24th, 2010

I am Lot’s wife
having looked back
became a frozen stone,
a statue of salt,

but now
having stood all these years
with the rain and the desert storms
and the world dropping down
to the ground,
my rigid silence
dissolves into tears.

This has demanded time
and the sure-rhythmed seasons of life
to cast my eyes forward again,

knowing that release is
the eventual way of all things.



Following Bouyancy

Posted by Jenn in Living Poetry
04 5th, 2010

Naked in the Eno,
hot day,
sun beating sideways on
silver ripples,
pale green leaves,
turtles toasting their shells
while I toast my pale skin
beneath the yellow eye.

Tufted titmouse and chickadee calling,
the slightest breeze kissing
my vulnerability.

Skeeter bugs skate on the river surface,
purple violets and spring beauty blossoms
crowding the river edge.

Oh

“Follow your bliss,” the wise men say.
My bliss is out here,
squidging toes into riverbed sand,
as a slow slow tide washes over my body,
only me
only me here
with the rest of the world,
the wild,
the world far from any well-marked track.

I sink back into the current
legs lifting, belly to the sky,
hair drinking in brown water,
growing heavy

floating
breeze and river

my soul a dogwood blossom
caught by the wind,
carried away by this hot sunny day
and the cool relief of giving in
to the riverway

the river’s way of
drifting
ebbing
rapids here and there
but rare,
wide, deep course
finding the down-hill path
down …
… down …
down

following
perfection
the perfection of
mind gone bouyant
soft and rippling
caught up in the current
where-ever gravity leads.



Carolina Spring

Posted by Jenn in Living Poetry
04 3rd, 2010

Four years
since I saw a Carolina spring,

Four years
since I saw the dogwood in bridal white
next to the redbud tree, and woodland drifts of
daffodils perfuming the air with honey while
wild wisteria hangs like Dionysian fruit,
intoxicating the senses, heaven-on-earth.

Four years
since I kissed the faces of field pansies,
fingers aroused by mouse tail buds and silky
river flags, lady’s slipper and pussy-toes,
or tasted the tingly tang of winter-cress,
cherry birch and woodland sorrel.

Four years
since I walked through a Carolina spring,
everything so … green!
greener than all earthly memory,
wanting to spend every moment out in the woods
or meadows along the Eno, or on Occoneechee Mountain,
staring as pine trees turn the world yellow with pollen.

Four years
since I heard the cadence of tree frogs
and birds
gone mad with springtime–
robins vying for love,
eastern blue bird warbling out his relief that winter is past
as the Carolina chickadee cries in fast succession
“chick-a-dee-dee-dee!”
nuthatches stealing old woodpecker holes for homes
while blue-black grackles and crows argue for limb space.
This is the season for sparrow song and goldfinch,
tufted titmouse, red bird, and the meadowlark’s
“Spring-is-here! Spring-is-here!”
Oh there are birds, more birds than I could name,
birds in search of nests and safe havens,
who know their voice in the greater song of things.

My heart is like the sweet spring birds,
opening forth into full-throated rapture,
mind abandoning winter’s house,
gone feral, naked in the sunshine,
lapping up penumbral rain until
I am drunk, soul splayed out like
apple blossoms before the bee.

Four years,
and I’ve awoken as
Carolina spring.



03 19th, 2010

Morning after rain,
Earth rests in reverie,
Soaking up jeweled silence.



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