Not That You Need My Approval

Rise up wild daughter of the woods

dance and romp

struggle and scream

kick and punch.

Persist. Resist. Insist. Consist

of and within your

own sweet and glorious dragon Self.

Kick at the stones and

split the sky into

one thousand shards of color

bellow in rage

fight

spin

sing.

Or don't.

Just rest and relax or do

whatever

it is your own unchained soul wants.

It IS your life. Live it by your rules.

This poet stands with you and your choices.

At a Possum Pace

If I could have a job that required long slow walks

through the woods,

I think I would take it.

Brisk, heelstomping, leafcrunching hikes

can be enjoyable,

but the Slow Walks are what allow me

to see what could be.

Soon I hear a fluttering just above me

and I stop again,

and thrill to my first sighting this spring

of a red-headed woodpecker

with his flashy formal black and white attire

standing in bold contrast to his brilliant

scarlet scalp.

I pause like a tree and listen and watch,

and then I move on,

but only at a

possum pace.

Shaft-Glory

Is there a word

for a shaft of golden sunlight

filtering its way through

a forest canopy,

through a million new leaves

and old trees

and finding 

somehow

a single wildflower to 

set aglow?

There should be.

The Path

He had, 

in his feet,

an eerie sense of direction,
a reliable map,

a mystic compass

which directed him so that,

no matter which path he took,
he never found himself 
that lost.

Of course,
to be lost

one must first have in mind

a destination.

For an Old-Time Wanderer

like him,

this made getting lost 

nigh unto impossible.

The Path,
you see,

was the Destination.

Dangerous Like a Murder Mystery

I'll sing a song in a minor key

It'll be dangerous like a murder mystery

They's gonna be blood and black eyed crows

They's gonna be folks hiding in the corn rows

There'll be dark hymns sung through the night

There'll be fear, but there might be light.

They clawed them bones 

and gathered stones

and walked in Wild Dark Woods

They wandered strange

like a hurricane 

like half-drunk weightless Druids

And when the nightwoods

opened up

they crossed a hidden door

And those wondrous 

watchful wand'rers

went out a-wandering

wandering forevermore...

Woodlands Etiquette

Should one come upon 

an ancient set of stone stairs 

while walking in a wild wood late at night,

one is always obliged to climb them

and should one find 

a mysterious door

in the middle of the forest

at the top of the stone stairs,

one is always obliged to go through

and when one finds an open field

of flowers flashing in an afternoon sun

on the other side of the door

in the middle of the forest

at the top of the stairs

while walking late at night,

one is always obliged to stop

and caress the flowers gently

and consider the mystery of it all.

However

When one finds 
large eggs 
deep maroon and crackled
on a pile of gold and jewels,
it is generally best to turn around

and run.

Starling Dance

Sun lay low and gold,

mellow heat on an autumn eve

painting trees a rich coffee color.

A sudden tree explosion sends starlings

skyward, starward

into a flurry of songburst and wingplay

over and back

swinging loosely, easily, knowingly.

Synchronized and chaotic.

Beautiful black shadows dancing on an

alabaster sky.