Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Poetry: Deer Sleep

Deer Sleep

My three-year-old son
wondered where deer sleep,
so I walked him there. Stepping
into a realm that is not reserved
for fathers and sons, we found
a ritual that has nothing to do
with us. That lost part of the brain
where the Moon barely creeps in.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, February 8, 2020

Poetry: Iniquity

Iniquity

So many snows ago.
Deer-tracks marked a journey,
Tear-tracks marked a journey,
As train-tracks grew cold, collected rust, and families
Moved away, never to return.
Too hard to forage, for man and beast alike.
So came this fight for survival, dictated more and more
By the dollar, Almighty Dollar,
Killing life, killing jobs, killing hope,
Pandering for spoils, preying on the innocent,
Robbing the future.
Northern Lights,
How you still explode the sky to silhouette the beauty
Of these mountains,
The power,
With North Star guiding ever true.
We cry to see your light dimmed by such vast iniquity,
Illuminating once-fertile bowers, callously raided.
Helplessly, we stand in the rough-shod, abandoned tracks
Of our forbears,
To inherit an ominous fruition.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, February 1, 2020

Poetry: Stars Long Dead

Stars Long Dead

How hard this now seems
to leave so few memories
Who will reckon us up
once we’ve finished here
Stars stud the sky but pay
no mind to who’s elected
Many looking bright flared
out last lights eons gone at
186,000 miles per second
as the universe’s vastness
makes them seem to shine
still to astonish us tonight

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, January 18, 2020

Poetry: Winter Dreams

Winter Dreams

I am so far away from you now, so far South,
Wondering how heavily laden your boughs are,
Wondering how your myriad of trout and bass swim
Under the thick lake ice, dotted with ice-fishermen.
No, I’m not with you in the harshness of winter,
But I am with you always, in my spirit.
I imagine the Currier and Ives quaintness of Inlet,
Of Old Forge’s magical hardware emporium,
I see hardy families sitting down, together, to the steaming food
That sustains them throughout bitter days and nights.
I see flickering, amber light, dancing from every frosted window,
As piquant scents of gray wood-smoke curl bravely
From weathered, creosote-tarred chimneys.
I see the deep ‘crow’s-foot’ crosshatching of snowmobile tracks,
Etched on streets, dirt paths and two-lane roads that blend together
Like lovers.
And then, at last, I hear the slow, sonorous breath of the deep woods,
Sleeping beneath nature’s coverlet of pristine, eider-down.
All this, all this, and so much more,
Is in my winter dreams of you, little Camp of my heart.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, January 11, 2020

Poetry: Littered With Salvation

Littered With Salvation

A flask-shaped bald head
olive-black eyes. Short chestnut
brown eyebrows. Oshkosh B’gosh
overalls and an ultraviolet purple
sleeved shirt. Like small dolls
patched with the materials of a day’s harvest
sinking into the earth
into a wormhole of foliage, laughing at nothing
but the act of knowing that sometimes it’s common
and good to laugh at nothing. We played
unconcealed. Outside. Submerged in
winding branches and brittle, lifeless leaves
laying on a basket filled with the fluorescence of eggs.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, January 4, 2020

Poetry: Caught Between the Hours

Caught Between the Hours

Have you looked up
at the stars lately?

Have you watched the Moon bow
or gulp light from her holy grail?

Have you howled at her?
The sky mother. Oozing

through the gate, a vaporous,
sweet olive black night

in the distance, a coyote yelping


Saturday, December 28, 2019

Poetry: Self-Portrait as a Wolf (For Donald Hall)

Self-Portrait as a Wolf
(For Donald Hall)

Once I served
my species proudly

by eating the
sickness of prey.

Now, driven from
the Adirondacks

I am the one
endangered. Spotted.

My sharp muzzle
sprinkled with dense,

black yellowish-white
underfur

turned into pelts
for unborn bones

on Christmas eve.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, December 21, 2019

Poetry: Light Rising

Light Rising

Ancient woods nestle softly,
Beneath their down of glistening snow.
Imperceptibly, the Adirondack Dome rises,
The cloaked giant ascends,
Reaching toward the North Star, shining star,
Over millions of years.
Durant’s trains are silenced now,
And the logging camps are dormant.
But the mountains live and the conifers breathe.
Chains of lakes sparkle like glittering molten glass,
Moose River Plains run wild,
Animals forage and the black bear sleeps,
Sheltering, waiting.
Pines dressed in white lacy skirts surround
Wooden Camps glowing warmly from within.
This is the season of peace,
Of hope, of continuity, of life cherished,
Of expectancy,
Of renewal by a blessed light rising,
Making all one,
As it has always done.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, December 14, 2019

Poetry: Homesick

Homesick

Too far from
pan-fried walleyed pike

and those sultry June nights
when we stoked the coals

as darkness
fell on top

the manic appeal
of loons.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, December 7, 2019

Poetry: Tisquantum

Tisquantum

This country
Was born on a welcoming,
An outstretched hand,
A feeding and a fellowship.
It is a noble heritage
That transcends color and belief.
I come in peace. I rescue you.
I am your brother.
The daunting land and forest creatures
Watched and listened
And all feasted together.
This country
Was born on a welcoming.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, November 30, 2019

Poetry: Deer and Heron

Deer and Heron

I am in his power.
He flys away. Seconds
passed before he looked
at me. Before he decided
I could not be trusted.

Ashamed of everything
in his world, I look at the
deer in the same way,
only minutes before
it sprinted
into, what was for me a sad
and delirious neighborhood.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, November 23, 2019

Poetry: Sermon in Your Stones (For John Burroughs)

 

Sermon in Your Stones
(For John Burroughs)

I began to sense that I was saved
when I gazed at my reflection like a
river otter studies its own teeth;
or how a nine month old falls asleep, head first
into her own lap.

Without judgement, I began to sense it.
Looking down I thought that I heard
sermons in your stones. An intelligent, loving,
laughter-inducing possibility that I was never lost
to begin with.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, November 16, 2019

Poetry: Wind Refreshing Cabin Memories

Wind Refreshing Cabin Memories

Wind pushing uphill cannot clear
the mountain of this mist
nor quite bring on much-needed rain.
Aspen leaves quake on no ear,
their timeless tremulosa dismissed
with the white-throated sparrow’s refrain.

In the fireplace a green-cut round
of mountain ash boils out its sap
with flames pulled tall by wind
— that shouldn’t be bound
uphill. A freakish front’s mishap
let such a breach of etiquette in.

Crane Mountain lurks cloud-hidden
whereabouts unknown, memory
layered deeper than kitchen middens.
Dad recites Sandburg’s “There Is A Wolf in Me.”
until we’d pray the Lord our souls to take,
while the aura of the wolf kept us awake.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, November 9, 2019

Poetry: Run With The Dogs

Run With The Dogs

Run with the dogs,
Through thick carpets of burnished gold leaves,
In charged air, with frost crackling at each footfall,
As sunrise shows welcome in pink.
Run with them, they beckon you.
They teach you to see, to be with joy, reveling,
Howling to the wind and sky with abandon,
Every second savored to the limit.
They live their truth,
Happily, generously, with love unconditional,
Trotting down worn Adirondack trails through ribboned creeks,
To music only they hear.
How pure are they,
Brothers of wolves, with hearts tethered to man,
Adoring, protecting, sharing precious primal freedom
And warmth of breath on chilled skin.
We, tied to them,
Follow their lead and trust instinctively, as confluent souls,
For their eyes are wiser, their understanding deeper,
Their grace, a greater mercy received.
With them, we can be wild.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.


Saturday, November 2, 2019

Poetry: Self-Portrait as an Eagle

Eagle nest by George Cassidy PayneSelf-Portrait as an Eagle

Hatched 30 minutes earlier
than the day before, I am placed
between a hot-water pad and a towel
to dry. Pecking an air hole in my shell
and beginning the ordeal, as the warm
air feels like Tegaderm on my beak.

Eight hours after hatching, I eat my
first meal-bits of lean quail raised
on my uncle’s farm. Feeding from a
puppet as to avoid being mistaken
by humans; in a week or so I will
see what it means to be wild again.

Read More Poems From The Adirondack Almanack HERE.

Photo of Eagle nest by George Cassidy Payne