Category: Nature

Magnitude

  I rest with the little waves. My feet are sore and feeling heavy a happy heavy, an earned heavy, these waves have traveled a lifetime. We surge together, side by side blood flushes with the swelling tide then down, back down, down for both our sakes’. We ebb and flow and contemplate magnitude, hand in hand, soul in soul with softened gazes a … Read More Magnitude

The World takes me with it

  The forest smells like peppermint and wraps me inside its Christmas hug; are those clouds? or the sea?— Does it matter? The world spins and I spend so much effort dashing the other way. Frantic flailing sort of running the kind that finds me farther back from whence I came.

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Swan Song

  Fifty times over, the swan sings soft– and I, through the garden, lay not a finger, but dance quiet. The swan and I stare— and swear the flowers look taller by the hour.

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Fate of the Fire

  This is the fire, the fate of the fire: to wax and bulge as I gaze upon it and shrivel and splutter when I turn my cheek— my chagrin is great and displeasure bold, for the night ahead is long. But this is the fate of the fire: to catch a waft a minuscule flick and with just a breath to light a … Read More Fate of the Fire

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Things Come Together, Things Fall Apart

I have found, when it comes to travel living (i.e. the act of traveling to a place to cultivate a life for a medium-length temporary period of time before moving along to a new destination and repeating the process), I feel almost all emotions in a concentrated dose. To a degree, this happens when I’m just travel-traveling, for a week or so to a … Read More Things Come Together, Things Fall Apart

Precipice

  Before the world was steady and still– soft ankle grass hugging loose. The blades didn’t breathe (me neither) my hair caught the chapstick (staying put) I held the book with one hand— not a page shivered. But the clouds are moving faster, now, breezy currents come. My hair tocks like a windshield wiper the grass rushes (still soft, it tickles) my two fingers … Read More Precipice

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Wishing Well

  We live in times of mustard moments and tales of clamor I close my eyes and wish for eternal picnics— I don’t know if the water has heard my golden dollar. Oh well. Sometimes the sun shines– and sometimes I still mow the lawn.

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Choosing

I remember the last time I existed.   I was wearing striped pants & seated cross legged on a park bench in Western park, Ponsonby. My shift was over     my blood circulating         & I found myself, cross legged, on the edge of a rain storm.

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Aimlessness Suits Me

  It does not appear that this sun shall set nor the melody in my mind to cease; I do not feel I shall ever be hungry nor recollect that feeling of cold. The sky mirrors my mind— empty and warm and without agenda— I find, in having no destination, I have come to where I should be.

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Tree Hugger

I don’t belong in the concrete world. It’s too hot for my feet too electric for my soul. When they ask me what I do     I say I count the leaves     on any given tree         and try not to cry too loudly  as I contemplate the complexity.

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Romance

  I see the sea lap the rocks the streaky current pulsing sinuous but smooth & tall my breath is still & the wind is still— the wind is so still. My cross-legged legs are streaky pulsing currents the spine shaped by carpenters with bendy rulers I count on one hand all the thoughts I think— man that wind is so still. Cloudless skies … Read More Romance

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A Christchurch Couchsurf

When spending a day in aimless enjoyment of the surrounding scenery, of the sounds a soul makes when it hears all those birds, of the capital position of being, I get this remarkable lightness in my heels and begin to bound more than walk. Sometimes, in between long conversations with myself, I opt for a spot of heel clicked and random dancing. Christchurch was … Read More A Christchurch Couchsurf