Author: poetryfest

In the dreamlike solitude of the frozen forest,
trees dormant,
landscape colorless,
ice chandeliers glittering like crystal on every slumbering branch,
a cardinal sings to me.

Red-crested and beady eyed,
vermilion in the shadowed topography of the impending solstice,
he is making a promisecheer! cheer! cheer!
He trills with gusto,
at home amongst the hardy pines.

The darkest hour may be yet to come,
but what follows night is always day

careful now, sweet fawn, to place your feet
between the mossy beds where our scented
heads nod with dusk’s satin breath.
we crawled through granite and mire,
with writhing vines to nd you, to see you.

adorned in dead leaves – snapdragon, lavender, wild strawberry,
ddlehead, dandelion, coltsfoot and fragrant bedstraw
we watch your steps, dappled and rustling,

and pray for a sunbeam as the bright undersides
of ferns are furling up in the fading light
pale birch and willow spines stretched to the river in thirst,
silvery leaves kissing the cattails and marshgrass while ag irises
utter violet and pale yellow nearby

every smell is of late summer, heavy deep earth
blankets of clover, hot cicada hum trembling across
spiderwebs that pattern cloak and dress with their delicate lace.

tree roots meet each other across secret paths to share secrets and
the woodpecker’s muted hammer
is splintering a dead tree’s corpse – then your gaze
(or a springing hare, perhaps)
startling him into a sudden urry of redtipped wings

underfoot – a vine of pearlescent morning glories
with petaled eyes closed, a spatter of chicory among the tall grass;
this forest, blessed by gaia, rich with wildowers, pink yarrow,
honeysuckle, and wild rose, their leaves full of fragrance

within a secret shadowed green place on a mossy bed
my tiny ivory owers hang like glowing candles among the shadows
and i know i will be plucked into a soft death, delicately;
so grateful to be the one you desired,
how beautiful the gleam of your eyes when you rst saw me

you turn your head – shadows slicing
your throat, making a hollow curve to rest,
a place to put my petaled tongue against every bareness of you

i am left on your ngers, sticky as you crush me
drag my scent across your breast,
through your tangled hair –
the long shuddering breath that lls you with love
and ghosts and the smell of decay, afterwards

cleaned away – smeared on sun scorched leaves
your stumbles break fallen pine branches
i oat around you, moondrunk –
your bright laughter sparking ints in the coming dark,
down the overgrown path, your body stained in loveliness.

A thousand giant red Ponderosa trees,
Jeffery pine, Douglas fir, Incense cedar
on the hillside of the Sierra lake
hold up the depthless sky.

When the air refuses to move,
it becomes hot in the forest shade.
Heat arouses circling flies,
mosquitos’ hover in dark places
for the promise of a meal
when the temperature is right
and cool enough.

The creek is fixed
of dense white-granite.
Snowmelt in the furious race
at the speed of gravity;
large foaming droplets
flying through the air.

Water shatters on the rocks
filling the sandy pools
for fingerling trout.
Running water overtops the bank.

Manzanita and Madrone flourish
In constant wetness.

Standing next to Home Camp Creek,
The stream is golden in midday sun.

The piss-ants swerve over speckled
plutonic rock on the fringe,
black water plunges over
a fallen tree across the creek.

I think I hear my father
over the rush of creek water.
His unmistakable cough,
hidden, yet recognizable.
The moss on the trees
are the ruts in his face,
lines around his green-eyed,
sad expression is there.

Flexing her black wings
in showers of mist on the wet rock,
the butterfly sails across
fluttering up the gorge, the stream.
No need of a bridge or trail.

Cutleaf daisies grow in a patch
of dirt and sand,
in the haphazard place of stone.