october 6, 2026 listen to me, tell me where im supposed to be don't think that i'll ever find out it'll be the end of me. tell me how long have you known we're a long time over grown? through the tall grass wind it whispers "time to leave" I was an open book never been shy until you showed me what it meant to be afraid. Don't look at me I don't want to be seen I just want to run away. the trees, they told me "you needn't ever wory, this is just a dying day. wont you lay down

Most days, to anyone who sees me, I am nothing but another member of the human race. A long, rigid face, body hair so microscopic, I may as well be bare flesh. Blue eyes sitting above the nose, ankles and knees and opposable thumbs 10 fingers and 10 toes bitten nails and bony lumps. Most days, to anyone who sees me, I am nothing but a woman. Empathetic and wild, curious and bound by the body and the mind. Today, If you were to go looking, you would not see me. Today

August 27, 2026 This place I am thinking of Comes up hazy, Like a dream. High-top chairs and a round table, 2 leaves, solid wood. This place I am thinking of, Up North, Off the highway, Amidst the cow sculls and chainlink And wagon wheels adorned with rust, Where the cigarettes burn like incense And the air is thick with life; Generations gather in the dark and early, Morning sun comes up from the East, The reliable rooster crows, Longhorns journey down from the pastureland M

August 5, 2026. Near Woodland Park, CO It was evening And the sun had drawn westward, lingering just above the brow of the mountaintops. I was walking, feet crunching into dry needles and cones of pine, fallen branches and loose sand. I was watching the black squirrel and the chipmunks and deer, The white throated swifts and violet-green swallows. Blinding spots of sunlight shone through the canopy of aspen and pine. I watched as a hummingbird glided upon the evening air bra

6:55 am I am sitting by the window, Ajar and flooding into my room that crisp, rocky mountain air, birdsong and crickets and rabbits and black squirrels, a caw and a crow and a rustle in the bush. Pink sky canvas, brush strokes like watercolour saturate the world beyond the dull pines dressed in Pike's shadow. First light came early, Yet still the sun has not shown her face. I am grateful to be here: At a cabin in the wood, Tasting the early morning, Listening for the world.

Isn't it magic how the droplets of dew rest so comfortably upon the bough of that southern crabgrass? Isn't it God who sends that sweet chill at nightfall so that the Earth may be baptized by the dawn? Isn't it that rooster, that sparrow, that lark, that dove in mourning which brings our ears up from the dead of sleep? Isn't it that rich dirt, alive and teeming, which nestles below, the veins of everything? Isn't it wonderous, the wild world? All its parts and voices; All it'

June 10, 2026 This brisk morning's breath, Those frivolous orioles, This lush bed of clover, slumbering below That sky world of periwinkle Hanging glass chimes, clings Playfully, peacefully That sturdy sycamore offers a strong arm, Holds them, As lively gusts make them sing. Canopy of cloud, Oh, that air. That humble sky! Shifting, churning, Coming into fragments, Dancing; That vapor, a ballerina, The air, a lover. Oh, would I sleep Again, again, Forever, Just to wake again A

I am never higher Than when I am walking Through the wood. Drunken On the landscape. Because, When I am out here, I just feel so close. And the trees are just So beautiful, And the thicket is just So lush, And the wildflowers bloom by the thousands, And each stream, each creek So quickly sweeping, rushing, Bubbling atop those moss adorned rocks. Those heav'nly showers last night, im still breathing. All of that thick air; So hot and wet; Intoxicating. I am trekking through th

Electrify me With your touch Cant describe that type of rush. Moth to open flame You call me Home. Always right there next to me, Yet I feel so alone. The coffee's on, Its two days old. Love was lost six months ago. Blue light in the hall Illuminates the hangings On the wall. Things dont matter much At all. Oh, So mundane. But who's to blame? It's just all more of the same. We just take it day by day. Electrify me With your Touch. I dont think I ask for much. Say you'll never

Today, let me soften, Let me sink Into warm waters. Be swallowed Into my mothers warming embrace. Let me melt, Melt, Melt Down to my formless being Edgeless, endless Ever moving, Ever changing. Let me unravel, Unwind like balls of twine Lost to gravity on a great hill Leaving a map to where i've come from, Where i've been, And where I lie. Let me unfold Petal by petal A rose bush in early May Uncover my center Let the rest fall away. Today, let me soften. Let this body feel w

April 23, 24 2026 My windows are open. It is April. Thick, hot air fills my lungs. The sky, erupting, Twists and shoves branches about. Westward wind stricken limbs traipse cross the Earth's floor. A lone Robin, Sheltering Beneath the crown of a sappy pine: A sanctuary from the storm. At dawn, Find me at the watershed, Wandering. Bare feet hopping rocks along the creek, Toes sunken into freshly sodden clay. Heav'nly showers Baptized the Earth, Springtime rebirth In full swing

Warmly, The mid-April breeze Nudges blooming branches Of the awakening wood. Gently brushing The golden tips of grain; The tallgrass whispers wildly Ancient wisdom of the prairie; Carries the call of the cedar waxwing, Yellow tipped tails a-flight; The symphony of the song sparrow, The great toad, The humble honey bee, The gallant grasshopper. Spreads the seeds of wildflowers And dandelion delight; I am here, Walking, Once again on these Holy grasslands, And the wind Is so Wi

Currently making my way back through this (amazing) collection of essays. Always have felt profoundly connected to Oliver's works. Encourage all to spend some time with her poetic prose and captivating poetry. Sharing a couple of excerpts i've been reflecting on from Upstream . From Upstream: "I am, myself, three selves at least. To begin with, there is the child I was. Certainly I am not that child anymore! Yet, distantly, or sometimes not so distantly, I can hear that child

Morning dew moistened steps, Gentle fog lifting from a chilled earth, A chorus: Winged creatures fill my ears with their morning song, The tune of which I recognize so well. Standing on lush green clover. Cool energy coursing, healing my body, bringing me back. I see her now Just beyond the crown of the mighty oak Making herself known Flesh burning Her familiar rays share their tender warmth, once again. We do this every morning.

This Human flesh The moss adorned Earth A combustion Energy Electricity and clarity I am awake I am alive Good Morning

May 18, 2025 make my wild heart wonder what I have to lose some say loves a blunder but I say you have to choose to know one another, be someone to carry through. you watch as I wander.. search for another clue. I cannot surrender until i've discovered you. dig around all the plunder just to find what's true. to be known is to be loved. but to be known, alone, is enough. chart you like the stars that I lie under find you always on my mind keep you safe while I ponder.. What

sweet April morning. dew frosted windows arrange the sun's rays so delicately, shining through each droplet, bouncing its glare from each wall of this golden, wooded room. searching... for any corner of darkness; nightshade lingering.. to put it away; replace the gray "meet back at dusk", she whispers.. "its my time to dance, today."

who am i to know who I am? who am i to be? April pouring out showing me just who is she bring me back to life, but its killing me climb into that satellite see just how small you can be to me its just a memory another bad dream but if nothing is as it seems then who am I to be? cant sleep through the night they're at my window in my sight! never can get through but i know that they're trying to. death by candle light you knew that i couldnt fight tell ya im alright but i'll n

The oak stood frozen Solid gold in the sunlight Mid-morning tea sweeped air Outside: Dewey Decadent Daylight! Keep me, O, morning Golden oak at my feet Warm comfort, Birdsong blues, Blushing heat

From April Aubade by Sylvia Plath "Worship this world of watercolor mood in glass pagodas hung with veils of green where diamonds jangle hymns within the blood and sap ascends the steeple of the vein A saintly sparrow jargons madrigals to waken dreamers in the milky dawn, while tulips bow like a college of cardinals before that papal paragon, the sun." Ah. Sylvia. Thank you Max Hawks for loaning me her collected works--I have been so enjoying the time with them. https://www.