POEM-CRACKER PARADE WITH FOREST-MADE WORD WEAPONRY

8AB33D2C-F16B-4DDE-9EB8-CDB241274F08Today marks two years of Living this lifestyle. Living outside with the breathing sky as heart-home roof. Finding a keener inter-independence with the living and dying more-than-human world and my dark and light Muse-Beloved. Everything is a window. Everything speaks.

From Gary Snyder’s ‘For All’: I pledge allegiance. I pledge allegiance to the soil of Turtle Island, and to the beings who thereon dwell one ecosystem
in diversity under the sun. With joyful interpenetration for all.

So Here’s a poem-cracker parade to celebrate and show off homegrown forest-factory- made word weaponry:

THE SILENT HERE OF THINGS

I finally stood in the lush truth of it.

I never walked so slow, never ate
so many trees
savored so many stars.

Dawn hung around my neck
like a sigil
the river stones emblems of belonging.

Some I in me had said, I can’t live
like this
but some big eye in me—
an owl, I recall—replied, Yes.
Yes you can—an archetype
is breathing through you.

They just kept letting me in.

Everywhere I didn’t knock.
No keys.
No doors.

The living sky my heart-home roof.

Only the silent here of things
on the back of the map
where all the real places are.

#ryanvanlenning
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You can get my books RE-MEMBERING: Poems of Earth & Soul, and High-Cooing Through the Seasons: Haiku From the Forest through your local bookstore, on Amazon or Indiebound, Link in bio. My book of mystical poems, Silence Begins Here, and book of love and erotic poetry, Wild Rose Hips, and Book of Rivers: Headwaters and Heartrocks will be out later this year. Follow me for mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheart for my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work. 🙏😀🌲💚

MEANT

0E381258-6AAF-45AF-B122-B0EDF374361FMeadow mint was meant to lend
its scent to me, was sent to me

as dawnly deer was here to leer
so near to me, so dear to me

and Blackly Bear had dared
to bare his soul to me, but not solely he

For You, you aimed to tame
that ol’ bear in me, just barely free

But I yet linger to bring
the wild things to you, springing through

All along, I sang the song
of deep belonging, among the throngs

For I was built to tilt my hilt
at windmills, and not quit until

my words as swords as skilled as lords,
swing us toward the secret chord