Poetry in the Woods

I went on a five-day tramp last week. To save weight I didn’t bring my journal, just my poetry book and confined myself to writing only poetry. It was a fun exercise—the writing restrictions as well as, obviously, the amazing tramp. Here are some of the fruits.

First night

Dormant in the dorm with
such freedom seeping in.
Freedom for the mountains and creek that
stand guard around me
surround me
confound me
roll out carpets for my feet.
I trod on.
Human, sweating, endless
I trod on
desperate for the thought I left behind,
For the rest that follows
deep rest,
undisturbed, 
for the mountains standing guard.

 

Pass the Haiku

Mountain top summit
Letting go of weight, I rest
Surrounded by You.

Sun lays in patches
Moving swiftly through valleys
Won’t you shine on me.

Peace. Silence. Breath.
I pause, listen with my heart.
Now I find my place.

Rock piled on rock
Patches of grass, of moss, shrubs
Everything in place.

The mountains still stand
They show signs of wear, and yet
They’ll outlast us all.

 

Hut Culture

silence filters through
muscles and sinew of those in the huts,
enabling relaxation.
silence after wind whistling through trees,
after water racing feet downhill
silence
silence and space
as if there weren’t enough in the 
air that rests on its shelf above a lake
or the triangles
between the triangles
of strongly rising earth

all of that can be forgotten now
ups and downs
wedges of flat edged with root where feet can press
and pull up bodies

these images release
with each cord of tension
with each unknotted thought
the silence seeps through

dinner hour lets murmuring return
water boils. utensils scrape.
trampers share their inner worlds
thoughts as majestic as a sunset
as a sidewalk

food unites, sustains
while light dissolves to dark
soon candles burst forth
in that fading between time
details jumps under thin spotlights
wanting to be seen
cards emerge
silence no longer reigns.