NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION – DISINTEGRATE

75C1352C-5881-43D0-95D8-6E454D9CD74B

Are you still disintegrating?

It’s ok, all things do
if they’re doing it right

Of course this winter business
is no summer picnic

If you wonder if you have
the heart for it
remember you were carried here by all the previous seasons

Each lending their magnificent layers and lessons

Look! Notice your sediment being communicated
by the river to the great sea

Besides, there’s really no
other way
than to keep breaking down
and composting yourself

How else can the rich soil of you
be the nest of all the new chirps waiting to be hatched in you?

—Ryan Van Lenning

I, TOO, AM LARGE, CONTAINING MULTITUDES (4/4)

CBDFD6B6-338F-4827-B105-40164A345D57Yes my mistakes, my habits unclean, all my petty hooks,
unrequited desires,
indecent hungers,
narrowness of vision.

My ignorance and vast egoism,
my ungoverned impulses,
flinging me into danger
as much as into joy.

My not knowing,
and my knowing well enough
but still doing wrong
my indebtedness,
my unearned privilege
my greed and uncompromising
dark devils paining the world.

The grief I carry still,
the grief I caused
the inflictions on your heart,
on the water,
on the living soil,
on plants and on the animals—
Oh, I too have waged brutal wars.

But also, to hold these
with the widest wings outstretched.

To ring my bones with flesh
yes good stomach and butt adoring
my athletic thighs,
both resting and pumping
gliding my hands in love
my well-worn knees and feet.

Yes, to my manly feet
my sensitive feet
my dancer’s feet
my wild feet

sauntering past all the gates
tipping my hat to the guardsmen
jumping across boulders

walking beyond approved forms
playing footsie with water
with you under the table
and no one has to know.

To walk the world like a madman
or like a man madly in love

To fling love unwisely
sometimes indelicately,
sometimes deliciously,
to throw it in iridescent loops
in ever-widening circles—

Oh, what a beautiful heart!
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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. My book of mystical poems, Silence Begins Here, and book of love and erotic poetry, Wild Rose Hips, will be out later this year. Follow me @ryanreturntotheearth for ecosensual mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheart  for my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work.

How the Night Becomes the Day

8ECDB130-3E64-4AD9-8E2D-7243715CA7ADI’ve looked through telescopes
and microscopes
Scanned the hills under all the skies
I’ve conducted all-night vigils
just to find out
Even climbed inside one
from time to time—But I still don’t know how the night turns to day.

I’ve set up hi-fi recording equipment
I’ve planted, watered, and harvested
Even climbed inside one
from time to time, but still—I don’t know how the seed becomes the tree
becomes the fruit

I’ve looked to all the experts
Gathered all manner of stories
and hired an inside informant
Even climbed inside one
from time to time—Yet I’ve no idea
how the boy becomes the man

I’ve asked the best
and searched the great compendiums of wisdom
I even resorted to creating some myself
and climbed inside one
from time to time—
However, I’ve still not a clue
how nothingness becomes a poem.

-Ryan Van Lenninh
————————————————————————
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, will be out later this year. Follow me @ryanreturntotheearth for ecosensual mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheartfor my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work.

BIG JUICE

EE434888-83F2-42E2-91C3-D5C07524A6D2The world is leaking circles again.
It never stopped.

At dawn you find yourself filling
with juice
and your flesh will have to expand.

It’s tight in there.

So deliciously tight it hurts with pleasure.

Your edges want to feel the kiss of the wind
and be eaten by the next set of lips passing by.

This is the order of things:
Death. Sun. Juice. Circle. Life.

That is a story for the mind.

First fruit whispers: Start
where you are

and Stretch into the circle
the Big Juice is trying to be
through you.

That is a story for the soul.

Still No Idea

84868FD3-F750-4121-9BFF-AC095A5D6ED6I’ve looked through telescopes and microscopes
Scanned the hills under all the skies
I’ve conducted all-night vigils just to find out
Even climbed inside one from time to time
But I still don’t know how the night turns to day

I’ve set up hi-fi recording equipment
I’ve planted, watered, and harvested
Even climbed inside one from time to time, but still
I don’t know how the seed becomes the tree
Becomes the fruit

I’ve looked to all the experts
Gathered all manner of stories
and hired an inside informant
Even climbed inside one from time to time
Yet I’ve no idea how the child becomes the man

I’ve asked the best
and searched the great compendiums of wisdom
I even resorted to creating some myself
and climbed inside one from time to time

However, I’ve still not a clue
how nothingness becomes a poem

So, Break

53F46132-A1F1-42BC-A68F-B8C9A894F569When you arrive at the end of one nation
and another begins, they tell you,
but where an old self ends
and a new one opens up

you must discover yourself
over and over
through vast experiments of trial and terror

The kind of terror that has you thinking
you’re floating untethered
away from the space vessel
and all form of things

Are you one who thinks you know
good from bad
when all the things seem to break?

When your earth cracks
and space comes hurtling
through your bones
unravel more accurately
and sink into your silence
robust and cunning

but then embrace the kind of terror
that has you planting trees
for the seventh generation
the kind that adds a layer of fat
to your empathic system

Part of you thinks all the notes come up black
and part of you wants to keep leaping
past the comets and make your own orbit

The part of you that, like a meadow of wildflowers
wants into the world so bad
it will do anything to make it happen
including turning indigo and flashing fuchsia
petaling upward umbeled and spiked

Do you really think that meadow arrived gently?

What of the ten million year preamble of terrible upheaval
anticipating the beauty before you?

So, break
break into the liminal space
with all the elegant pain you can muster

forget all the fine tethers, attractive and dead

turn indigo and break the earth
petaling your meadowed self
without restraint
until your chasmly scream, pure and unshackled
booms through all the worlds