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Boundary Waters Quetico Forum :: Group Forum: Artist's Corner :: Poets corner
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| Author | Message Text | ||
| tremolo |
a lake, small, in a mosaic of bigger, deeper ones, whose whole I am part of, though often I'm alone |
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| HighPlainsDrifter |
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 |
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| HighPlainsDrifter |
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 |
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| HighPlainsDrifter |
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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| dogwoodgirl |
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. |
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| Jimi |
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. |
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| HighPlainsDrifter |
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. |
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| gutmon |
There soon- sun and sand Breathe deep the cosmos until fat toad lands in lap |
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| Plodder |
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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| HighPlainsDrifter |
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 |