RAP: Found in the Outdoor Journal IV

Well, it's done. One full year of outdoor journal tucked into chapters, for potential use when I finally start (finish?) writing God in the Yard. Here are some random fragments I rescued from the last pages and put into poem form.

I'm planning to make this the year of the journal. A different kind of journal, using Journaling as a Spiritual Practice to guide me. So hopefully I'll still have random poems to find and set here.


xxxxvii

Blueberry bushes
stripped, lean, beautiful
amber and crimson against
a bronze needle bed.


xxxxviii

How desperately
the dog next door
tells the world
that I am
here.


xxxxix

Moon shimmers, glassy blue
night; I lie under glistening
pine, watch house lights shine
over empty white yard while my
girl cuts cucumber crescents
on grain-gold kitchen counters.


xxxxx

Three cardinals volley
chirps, swing calls—
bush to hemlock to pine.


xxxxxi

Snow descends in dancing
sheets, sparkling cloth flung
out by a dressmaker’s hands.


xxxxxii

Trees black, struck against
faded cobalt sky and the sun
leaking tears, yellow, pink.


xxxxxiii

Furled leaves of wild
garlic mustard and, soon,
forsythia breakfasts!


xxxxxiv

Hemlocks sway, twigs
snap, slap the air—bold
tango at yard’s edge.


xxxxxv

Faintest tongues
of forsythia speak
cheer into the yard.


xxxxxvi

Forsythia triple-
leafed—fleur de lis
gracing the woods.


xxxxxvii

Red thorn berry
shriveled, deepened
to muted cranberry—
too-long suckled
by winter’s
urge.


xxxxxviii

Thorn-studded branch—
wan skeleton, brittle
against the landscape.


xxxxxix

Look around! Watch
the hemlocks swinging
hear the ‘thtick thtick’ of
little pinecones dropping
touch the pearl-blue sky
see the buds swelling
in hopes of spring.

Moss photo by L.L. Barkat.

POETRY FRIDAY:
Ann's Of Launching and Recovering
Mom2Six's Poetry
Erica's Morketiden
High Calling's The Poetry of Twitter
Joelle's Emptied

THANKS FOR THE HIGHLIGHT!
High Calling's Confetti Days