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new old older
young green leaves, rooted intorough hewn stump, anchored uponrich forest soil, draped acrosscragged heavy stone, wedged alongancient sweeping mountains, jutting fromshifting geological faults, slipping aroundrevolving green orb, floating invast mysterious universe – bardo I have reserved some space on this blog each week to be creative, and to post some fiction, poetry, art or prose. Writing
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Whirls Clear Water
by powerful strokeslevering solid against fluidan oar pushing on crystal waterdelving deftly and deepby muscular heft against molecular dragplunging paddlesscooping by effort to counter frictionblurring stillness into motionunseen effort into swirling chaosbelow the calming tranquilityof a kayak drifting upon the lake – bardo I have reserved some space on this blog each week to be
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Misinformed
the momenta treefalls in the forestcrashesbreaking branchesthrashing limbscracking woodmakes a soundheard by just onewitnesswho tells the story to friendswho were not therean audienceunable to confirmthe momentthe noisethe disruption to the peace of the forestexaggeratedamplifiedby wordsfeelingshunchesfearsmisrepresenting andunable to preciselyarticulatethe moment – bardo I have reserved some space on this blog each week to be creative, and
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firewood
the fate of a tree brings a curious twiststarting as seed on wind, through misttucked into the soilspattered with rainsprouting and growing new heights to attainshrugging snow, budding leafbasking summers often briefsunlit evenings casting long shadowsbrilliant colours before even more snowsyear after year, decades pass, seasons withdrawuntil fate arrives as a windor a flameor a
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Those Woodpecker Winters
”Wake up! Wake up!” The woodpecker knocks, flying from tree trunk to tree trunk, swooping gracefully between the branches. “Spring is here. Wake up!“ Against the pale white bark of the poplar trees, her red crest hat can be seen by all the creatures of the forest, like a flame alight in dark meadow. “Wake