Storytime 5: The Forest

buxton-woods-1

 

3:30 in the afternoon,
sun high,
she trudged through seaside forest;
a blessed canopy that kept her secret.

Humid.
Sweat rolled as
mosquitoes invaded
flapping sleeves
and grabbed at wet ankles.
Gnats threw themselves into the stickiness.
Slick itch and irritation a slight distraction
from deepening apprehension.

A lone cricket’s croak broke the whispering quiet with a rhythmic tattoo.
Hawks continued to draw a grand circle overhead to the south.
Was she getting any closer?

Regret welled up;
seeking relief from the tension.

2014 Copyright

 Storytime is a series of poems that, together, form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual poem.
Or, start at the bottom (Storytime 1) and read up (to the present) for a story.
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Storytime 4: She Woke

CJames - Beach - Two Gulls

She woke with sand in her mouth.

Two gulls stood at her feet chattering and poking at the soft, watery sand.

Tide had risen
and so must she.

Which way to go?

She looked up.
Big sky was glowing gold as the sun stretched for the western horizon.
Fish hawks circled in a pattern high overhead due south.

Due south it would be.

2014 Copyright

Storytime is a series of poems that, together, form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual poem.
Or, start at the bottom (Storytime 1) and read up (to the present) for a story.
Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to receive notices of additions.

Storytime 3: Dreamtime

 Large_and_small_stars_in_harmonious_coexistence

The dream reached for her.

Silent
darkness
parting
for
a
piercing
distant
light.

She strained to see
and as she did
a multitude
began to glow around her.
Deep space held her, floating, in an iridescent pool of stars.

Defying the gravity she’d left behind,
she turned and turned
to find the glassy marble:

Agua and ciel
smeared with snowy streaks
and bits of lush and burnished terre.
Her heart warmed
at the sight -
familiar sanctuary.

And yet, not firm,
her home began to shrink.

Smaller and smaller, earth became
a deflating balloon.
She watched the curiosity
compress upon itself
until the air was gone.

It did not stop.
Small, strange, empty mantle,
this glowing planetary skin
revealed itself
transparently soft
and
slipped
inside
itself
and
out the other side.

Inside out
her home became
and then began to stretch and grow again.

It looked the same
but she knew, it was not.

She wondered if her seaside lair would
spurn her return.

The fright awoke her with a start.
She felt for the familiar sand below her
and looked up at the distant night sky.

2014 Copyright

Storytime is a series of poems that, together, form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual poem.
Or, start at the bottom (Storytime 1) and read up (to the present) for a story.
Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to receive notices of additions.

Poem: Raw

I like my music raw

the way it comes.

The way it runs from lead-in

to end

with fits and starts

and bits of someone’s heart.

I like my music raw.

I like my music free.

The way it comes upon the wing

of figments and dreams

with pitches floating light,

maybe a broken melody.

I like my music free.

No auto-tune,

not in May or June,

leave the sound alone;

that blossoming tone

a sacred human throne

tender, pure, sometimes tattered and unsure.

I like my music wild.

Perfection, as a child

turned loose to run

and hide … surprise;

an unexpected ride

through life’s impassioned luscious side.

I like my music wild and free.

I like my music raw.

2014 Copyright

Storytime2: Night Falls

Sunset-Stars-Over-Beach

Night fell as she landed on the mainland.
She would not stop, but exhausted from the crossing,
she could not go on.

She pulled herself up to a dry place hoping it was out of reach of the rising tide,
and rolled over onto her back.

A soft, salty breeze caressed and
the warm sandy bed soothed.

A memory washed over.

Someone, somewhere, once
had said humans were the only animals
that slept on their backs looking at the stars.
It made them curious.

Where was she now?

A cricket chorus lulled her into a deep sleep.

2014 Copyright

Storytime is a series of poems that, together, form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual poem.
Or, start at the bottom (Storytime 1) and read up (to the present) for a story.
Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to receive notices of additions.

Storytime1: The Crossing

scinews_0410_liberty_01

Walking across proved to be more of a challenge than she anticipated.

The tide was low.
One would think that meant an easy sprint to the mainland.

But, she didn’t count on pluff mud:
boggy mud that carries the salty, crustaceaous, sulfery, ocean smell of birth and decay;
boggy mud that sucks one in quicker and firmer than a frog grabs a mosquito.
Marshy loam that resists letting go.

There was no sprinting.
There was stepping,
sinking up to one’s ankles,
sometimes the knees,
pulling hard to wrench free,
losing one’s balance,
grabbing for mud that won’t hold,
pulling again
and, finally,
making the next step.

She could feel bits of shell scratching at her legs as she punched through the
slick, slimy, surface.
She could smell decaying fish and crab.
She hoped she’d left the knife-like oyster beds far behind.

It was exhausting.

The crossing took hours.

2014 Copyright

Storytime is a series of poems that, together, form an unfolding story.
Read each as an individual poem.
Or, start at the bottom (Storytime 1) and read up (to the present) for a story.
Sign up to follow my blog if you’d like to receive notices of additions.

CREATE: Walking Really Does Increase Creativity

Per SmartPlanet Daily

walking-city-creativity-flickr

Photo by Moyan Brenn. Click picture for more of his work.

 

There have been many studies lately discussing the negative impacts of inactivity and sitting too much.
But moving more isn’t just good for your health.
Researchers have shown that
walking, specifically, can help improve creativity. 

more here.