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HighPlainsDrifter
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02/14/2008 10:37PM   (Thread Older Than 3 Years)
I have played around with words for a while. Here are a couple originals about the wind and the snow

Fickle wind: Mariah

a test of patience repeated
as the day before,
the day before,
and the day before that
Mariah, Mariah they call the wind,
way out west
I call her a bitch, this wind, this day
a witch, with broom, trying to sweep
me from this Dakotah plain
first north, then south
fickle lady with an attitude, but
soft she comes, sultry and desirable,
on a summer night,
when my body is bathed in sweat
her breath over me
stay with me, Mariah


Ripple down

horizontal snow
on the border country, don’t ya know?
Winnipeg, Fargo, and down the Dakota line
folks toss, shovel and blow from walks,
that icy crap
and watch it go
south with a smile
white flakes tumbled on the wind
to the neighbor a few doors down
to the neighbor a few miles down.
Ya, you betcha.
 
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02/15/2008 03:04PM  
Nice, HPD. Here's one about my first time in canoe country...

how it started

my folks were
always sending me
to camps
of one sort or
another

the summer i was
twelve
they put me on a van
up the north shore
back in the spruce woods
where the air
was cool and
magic

canoes
met us
on the shore
and we began
to learn how
girls could become
voyageurs

it was all that
girl scouts was
not
we used knives and
axes
i saw that
perhaps i
was strong and
sharp
and even
dangerous.

5 days into
our journey
the rain was
constant
it was cold
i hated
freeze-dried eggs
and my
feet hurt and
i wanted
to go home.

once i was
back in the city
all i could
think of was
please
can i go
back.
 
02/15/2008 09:03PM  
Sitting in camp
I fill my lungs deeply

Breathed over water
Scoured on basalt
Imbued with life by the forest

The air tingles in my chest
Pristine
I lock that feeling in my heart

To remind me of the North
Of Wilderness.
 
HighPlainsDrifter
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02/15/2008 11:10PM  
Dogwood......... jimi

a feeling in my heart.....
please
can i go
back.............

Amazing what we find as the perfect escape........ others do not understand

Poetry is a cautious endeavor because it reveals so much........ you never know if it is good enough. My test, I need to feel the moment that caused me to write the words. And that is good enough for me.
 
HighPlainsDrifter
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06/27/2008 12:23PM  
Thunderstorm
by HPD

air too heavy to breath
forest hushed in silence
not a whisper

sticky covers
cling to clammy skin
not a breeze

a distant rumble
breath of the storm foretold
whispered from the pines

winds roar
unleashed as a river in flood
I roll, hold my pillow in a lump, and wait
for the storm to pass
 
HighPlainsDrifter
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06/27/2008 12:32PM  
I wrote this after seeing the post for a call for stories (of an awesome nature).... and just to balance the awesome tales, I wrote of the simply awesome tale of my kinda day

just another day
by HPD

a story of a September day
the kind where summer shines on your face
and winter breathes down your back
I sat watching clouds like big cotton balls drift overhead
the rock was warm
I breathed the scent of fallen leaves
and now and then caught a whiff
of coffee hot and steaming
nuthatches chatted amongst themselves ignoring me
while I sat quiet and waited
for nothing to happen
........... just my kinda day
 
HighPlainsDrifter
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02/07/2010 11:01PM  

The muse caught me while eating SPAM....... I think SPAM takes me to the very root of my outdoor adventures..... anyway, SPAM gave me a great start for my morning power walk on snowshoes.

Fried SPAM

in a pan
cakes on the griddle
maple syrup and butter
hot coffee
tradition
outside 2 below
flakes drift on down
building, crystal by crystal
to a silent world white
on the surface I float in magic shoes
wood-rawhide shoes a tradition
like SPAM
fried in a pan

by Joseph Pikul (HPD)
February, 7, 2010
 
tremolo
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02/17/2010 02:56PM  
Body of Water

a lake, small,
in a mosaic of
bigger, deeper
ones, whose
whole I am
part of,
though often
I'm alone

 
03/10/2010 08:34PM  
Parent Lake Haiku

There soon- sun and sand
Breathe deep the cosmos until
fat toad lands in lap
 
Plodder
member (6)member
  
01/29/2015 06:47AM  
Blackness

By Doug Crews-Nelson

Quiet scrape.
I pick my foot up and glide on the night water. Silence and darkness are well joined.
I am in Love with the Universe.
Stillness. A few quiet strokes.
I hear the water curl as it swirls past.
Stars are suspended like a moment in a flood of white sparks flying across sable expanse.
Still waters, like cold polished stone, are Black.
Stars flicker off the surface of the lake.
The flat darkness of the featureless tree line is backlit by a faint green luminescent arc to the north.

- -
My emotions begin to take me… a kiss so medicinal from one so beautiful,
my being swims in the depth of it. "Don't leave"
I’m young. Shapes. Sounds. Touch.
Are associations more powerful than definitions?
Freedom comes as I See.
- -

Moments or hours.
I dip the paddle again and steer back to camp. The stars contrast with ebony blanket sky, unable to see into the waters, air crisp.
Blackness invites contemplation on the Mystery and carries me to sleep.
Finding answers gives more questions.
Tonight, I leave things unsolved.
 
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