I count the treads of my boot in the mud I drop to my knees and the mud’s on my jeans She who walks past this point will muse Of the forest gods that slipped past my screens. Who do I worship here? The birds trill “SKREEEEEEE!” on an opal sky A dog howls off by the skyrise line The ants make no sound as they scurry by My hands are blue with the winter’s sheen. I think of the ants on a warship. The ocean is out; She never looks real Her plastic-wrap surface, her crests too slow. She’s nothing like forest – a tangible soap That washes away the mud from my soul. As long as I breathe, I can’t touch the curtain That separates me from the truths I seek But here in the woods, I know for certain That even the ants hear the prayers of the weak. And the ants are part of the truth.
Author: balladrael
sandstone angel
who cares that this trail runs over a sewer line? the autumn leaves still pave the earth in umber; the river giggles and delights the birds. the pine grows once like grass, and once like prehistoric ferns. the sandstone angel statue never leaves her slumber her dress outstretched, a napping place for feral cats. this trail transforms the bush into a shrine and sunlight into haze so rich it burns.
a shadow travels faster
a shadow can travel faster than even the speed of light so bad news travels quickly and good news takes all night
city
Gum stuck to worn concrete Tennis shoes on sweaty feet Pigeon poop glued to the street Food trucks hawking mystery meat A hood a suit a scarf a pleat Averted eyes, a haze of sleet Sirens wail and trolleys bleat A public bus, a taxi fleet Window panes entrapping heat A city you cannot complete A city you cannot defeat Who dares to say it -- Say hello
crickets
The sweetest sound is insects singing No other hymn hums so continued Young crickets chatter, wings a-flinging No breath, free chitin, all unsinewed Rhythms, clicks, anticipations Legs create the shell vibrations Body singers thrum the night From every angle, out of sight
I will not eat my time tree
does it make you angry that the mirror’s in the present does it make you hungry like a spatially laden pheasant? I see cardinal directions but only for this second In only three dimensions as my dark brain reckoned I smash the mirror with my fist The shards of silver bleed I smash the wristwatch with a hammer Then plant it with a seed I watch the tree grow stronger Its roots dig in my belly I feed the time-tree daily As my bones turn to jelly The fruits are yellow, thick-skinned They grow too far to reach My head is buried in the dirt The tree’s become a leech I will not eat my time-fruits I will not taste their juice Instead I lay here in the dirt and let my spirit loose
I am nature’s daughter
I walk by a pool of water the sun filtering yellow through the water skippers dancing the sky a heated blue. The algae air clings clothing the sweat runs down my chest I walk by a pool of water but I cannot find rest. I cannot see my iris in the glassy surface edge I cannot see my face or hair or the beads hung on the hedge I do not know my reason I do not know the birds that sing on heavy branches I do not know their words. All humans are so tiny such an interlocking mesh how many hands it took to build how many pounds of flesh No one walks beside me No one across the lake No one across the ocean Am I here by mistake? The grass is filled with tick shells the mud smells like a sewer I cannot see my reflection Or the clouds upon my skewer I sit on a rotting tree stump And stare out at the water A mosquito welts my arm skin I am truly nature’s daughter.
macrame
Why do we trap god in a pit Or pickle god in a glass? Why do we think of GOD as a man In paintings, in print, in brass? GOD is not human, she said to me, god is the spaces between God is the gravity well, the bee, GoD is electric: the Queen. If you scraped all the good from human hearts And somehow measured its sheen that’d be the shadow, a whisper of god just flameless gasoline. God is remove your sandals NOW And slap those feet on the ground The creation of flesh, who works the plow Struck dumb, ambered in sound. The sum of every genius thought The joy of every glowing heart The power of every pent-up watt The counter and the counterpart. You burn your sandals now and pray Let god unknot the macramé.
mariana to everest
How can I take in Mariana to Everest And battle Time, when she thinks she’s the cleverest? Here’s a curled-up baby, damp and crying Blinking with its black eyes at the room Every eyelash, fingernail complying With the human blueprint from the womb. Here’s a wrinkled shell, her soul still beating Even after AIDS has gnawed her flesh How to live when all of life is fleeting? How to age, when birth appears so fresh? How to love, when lovers die tomorrow? How to rage, when justice walks away? How to grieve when tears don’t lessen sorrow? How to see the weave within the fray? We must follow creature intuition What humans did before we managed fire We must understand another being’s condition And do our best to give what they require. We serve our human sisters and our brothers We cannot always choose their paths through mortal night Touched by the ancient calling: healing others It’s enough to lend our steady beams of light.
mother
I spread myself out and melt into the grass Becoming the blades of translucent sun-glass I am the bubbling under the stream The salmon that fall through acrylic and steam I melt underneath and become beetle shells The nettles the splinters the crunch and the wells The hollow and echo and ghost through the trees Breathing the waters and rustling the leaves I am the sky now, the moon-clouded sun The breath in your lungs and the drum of your run I am the skin holding blood to your chest I am the dewdrops on pinecones undressed I am the rock rolling up silver hills To generate forest from butterfly frills. I am the scraping of birdsong at eve The kisses of lava on saltwater frieze I am the washing of particled stones The salt-weed and sea moss and ocean-bleached bones I am the jungle infusing exploding I am the tundra diffusing unloading I am the depths of sulfurous sea valleys Crabs spidering through my Riftia alleys I am the heights of the quartz-weighted peak Lighter than air where peregrines seek In one slip of time, with a reach of my toes A stretch of my hips and scuff of my nose I reach out to space with the tips of my hair – Come talk with me, child; you’re under my care.
[Featured Image: Among the Sierra Nevada Mountains by Albert Bierstadt]
balladrael 
