The Camp Years

I slept sleeps in keeping with the thought

That we simply walked two different paths

Rains and autumns unto years through which

You smiled into other faces from farther parts

Forgetting each time the leaves turned again

~

I let that red string lie and yet it had gone

Anchored by imaginings groundless

But for the one thing I never guessed

Even though anything could have been

After I left you

*

Image of the Kettle Valley Trail

The Jade Peony

 

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When I took a break (snack)

I made burrito bowls and falafels

And protein-type snack

At last a recipe of my own

One point five cups oatmeal

Blended into flour

Point five cups protein powder

(chocolate, of course)

Point five cups bran flakes

(crushed up but still crunchy)

Point five cups peanut butter

(smooth, just peanuts)

One tablespoon of coconut oil

And a dash of salt

Rolled into balls of whatever size

And I just kept on eating

Instead of

Blogging

 

Red with an umami stripe

The poetry in the spaghetti

Had me coming back for seconds

The First and Last (Farlien’s Meeting Place)

I could have gone on the ether

I could have kissed the hems

Of the cloud-clad gifts of Demeter

Of the jewels in the rocks and the fens

–

I had no seated bounds

No traces wound ‘round 

Naked lips, wrists, fingers and ankles

My neck I wore white

And clean as the new light

That broke on the spears of the mountains

–

I knew the birds’ hum

And the sybilline thrum

Of the woods and the heather mist rising

I looked no farther away

Than the next dawning day

‘Til I found the first and last treasure

–

I could have gone on the ether

I could have raised the land

With every step after Demeter

With every note sung a command

–

But I found the green by the water

I found flowers born of the eye

I found the words never before uttered

And here I am happy to lie

*

This poem started with a mondegreene from “Moonlit”, by Villages

Image from Tolkien Gateway

While you are here

While you are dreaming

Of that Cimmerian shade

Ahead, a few years from now

I can do nothing but wait

Already missing you

Should you go

After tea

What a bitter day is ending

And hardly to be borne

The hours paved with nettles

Though I knew not what for

 

For you no longer want me, friend

This I now plainly see

Departing in your glass caravan

That you once had of me

 

How hard and strange it would seem

Had we that golden bowl of trust

Piled with fruits of the first water

Budded and grown between us

 

But I confess that this we never had

And with sunset, I begin to see

That I had tired of your intemperance

Before you tired of me

Paper lands

In falling out of seasons and stars

The embers’ creep unfurrrowing charts

From fingers’ width to leagues unbound

Stone, wood and sea in all their parts

Vistas each by ash remarked

Wings arising to crumble

Gone afar