22. Nov, 2018

I'd come to this obscure corner of

the heart

the center of a rich forest

there are no boundaries

to this forest land

any tree lover will

know when they've arrived there.

Big skies were behind me

the highway ran beneath walls of green

the road a shaved

strip through a carpet of forest.

Grand firs and lacy white pines, and 

red cedar: their sweeping limbs called me

reaching outward like gothic angels'


The hemlocks sneaked in, a 

dark, haunting element.

As a kid amidst this forest,

bringing stories of the wild woods back

I was quick and eager

to explain how

hemlock and sword fen

survived in the low-elevation


Plopped between arid landscapes

this cloaked country

would lead

above the river canyon.

Dark, feathery foliage dangled over a hazy

blue gap below.

Looking west, there was

unbroken sunshine

and piles of snow still covered the trail.

But the storms regathered to create another wet


Beside a crystalline creek,

I was sitting in emerging sunshine,

gazing at lower slopes.

Soon our trail entered the woods--

a new grove of trees below,

in the cedars.

Over a cold spring-fed creek,

the cedars were king.

In these woods,

western white pines once

dominated an endless grove of 

tall straight trees.

I was giddy. The river glowed golden

from yellow boulders.

Around the first bend, a cow elk stood on 

shore, head down eating streamside grasses.

I wandered upstream,

started uphill.

Up and up along a spine

ridge with views of the river below,

lost in reverie when 

sunlight shone ahead of me

and nearby fir trees were 

forming a clear-cut:

wild nature was behind,

left below in its canyon.

The sun was setting over the rim

of the canyon

behind silouhettes of hemlock

hanging like a veil over the forgotten

forests of the interior.


Caviardage poem created from Tyler Williams' article "Clearwater Country", in American Forests, Fall 2018, pp. 34-39. 

Picure by courtesy of Jaymantri via

2. Nov, 2018

It can be lonely 

into the deep forest

yet I love

the shadows playing with

the light in the submerged

world of trees

where you can be silent

or cry and nobody will ever

find out, except for them.

I love letting loose my hair

in the wind and feel

the ancient wildness roar 


My skin could ripple like a wave

under your devoted explorer's 


our hearts could love

with no strings and ties

our bodies could intertwine 

in trust.

Beyond clinging, there is

freedom to be for us.

No pretense

under the deep green shade

where we can lie down.

Listening to the deep voice 

of the forest and its denizens

we can share our wordless secrets

and you can make plaits 

of my hair.

I can caress your eyes

we can touch each other with 

a naked gaze and hand

the hunger of the eager

when they recognise 

one another at length:

like outlaws living on 

the border, beyond this

age of conventions.

14. Sep, 2018

Wild currents lull me into the Great Awakening,

light floods my ephemeral being

turning it into a transparent lake.

Translucent Silence moulds the soul into a fragrant rose.

Tongues of fire light the way into Victory and Surrender.

Once again.

From timelessness, I behold the Earth,

the sacred body of the World's Soul.

A blade of grass shines into Infinity

and -- wonder of wonders -- in the fields

of the heart, what is small expands.

9. Sep, 2018

Says the Self to the Self:

I have stood before the mirror of time

searching into the well of my eyes

for the question without answer

that only asks of itself,

the quest for freedom;

but when I met You

I realised I can only love my Beloved

as the Cosmos dances its veiled figures

into being forevermore: intimations

of immortality in every physical form.

Ripples of eternity come clashing

into the wave of becoming

and sometimes, inexplicably, 

the fire of Love gets sparked.

Sometimes, when it is sweet or painful

to be alive, the hands of the Universe

weave blue, purple, gold, red threads 

into a magic grid before my eyes.

Then, I dive deep into the Heart

and in the music of Silence the Lover

and the Beloved become One.


3. Aug, 2018

Leaves moving in the breeze

a plop in the water

maybe a frog

wind words are slings

on the pond's brown skin

tree tops are brushing

the sky clean

a watersnake is swimming

on the still water --

and I -- I am 

a drop of attention 

among the leaves.