Nearly forever listening, we're always hearing a voice of this river, the flow below ground, the unfolding sound of erosion and reaction, the timbre of melody of friction on stone, the thoughts of a poet, nearly, but not always, written alone

— inspired by Ella's poem of Mammoth Cave https://www.youthvoices.live/safe/ #writeout

Ode to the Bend in the River

Smoothed stone, pottery and glass meet you where the bending begins

Where it's best to sit in the quiet of the movement, to just listen in,

Every ripple of river, a moment of wonder which clears its voice, and sings

— inspired by Ranger Beth via #writeout https://www.nps.gov/media/video/view.htm?id=EC5D2F60-6823-4601-9CAF-DD66B5AA14FD

She flattens out her fingers, for me to see, the dusty-winged moth that landed on her hand as she was writing a poem of the tree, an inspiration of art, observed, and then, on her page, set free

for #writeout

Knotted stub where branches should be

It could be something of a ghost remains

born of sun born of soil born of root born of rain

new seeds, scattered, sown again

for #writeout

Bright red berries bundled in a field of green -

We've often seen sparrows and starlings feeding here from our window, but not today;

Our presence as poets as writers as artists keeps them away

for #writeout

Night

Darkening hours unveils her silhouette, the evening sound songs quicken

Shadows leap the night world in broken treetops

Scurry down to dig and spread this moment of opportunity

Weave a unique tapestry in the forest night:

Discover

Found poem for #writeout from Informational Wayside of Olympic National Park

Pressed ear against trunk and wandering stem, paused at a knotted place where scratched patched skin is but a whispering riff of faint tree-song

We listen for roots reaching to leaves, and for leaves, singing to roots

Some earth cadences, the repeated call and response signals of soil to sky and between, linger a lifetime, or more

responding to Wendy's poem and image https://wentalearn.blogspot.com/2021/09/half-cadence.html #writeout

Tree Poems: Final Days

Some days sun only brushes branches, a sliver of silver carved through space with crowded eyes above me

My limbs break, snap, and scatter, earth is always shattering us, before we say farewell to time, behind

I can suffer this cold in dignified silence, a decline warmed only by remembrance of stories, still told

for #writeout

Tree Poems: Middle Years

I am again in bloom — even in Autumn — making tangled connections to those rooted around me — sharing what I have stored, from long summer’s sky and sun and rains, feeding forward — the dehydrins and the mycorrhizas — with fellow trees in need

for #writeout

Tree Poems: Early Days of the Oak

Slow stretching — my armor’s itching with wooden etchings — dark textures to show how much I grow — though every inch, to you, with your ticking clocks of keeping time, must seem interminable slow

for #writeout