FORAGING THE LISTENINGS

3402769B-4A54-4727-A407-78A7F0A2821F

The hour arrives
to turn the volume down
in order to hear.

The season of silence begins
with a low guttural
and the treetops glistening—
you enter the dark
foraging the listenings.

Some silver-bladed violence
in your mindknot
begins evaporating.

The untangling commences.

Now you see, the bright thread connects the important things.

Things un-split.

A mammal presence
fills the cave.

Like a long-forgotten season,
a rest deep and thick emerges.

When that hour arrives
the bones signal their agreement,
another ear opens
and old songs shake themselves
out of your marrow.

#ryanvanlenning
#SilenceBeginsHere

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This poem is included in the new collection ‘Silence Begins Here.’ That and my collection of love and erotic poetry, ‘Wild Rose Hips’, and my polyRiverous celebration of rivers, mountains, and souls ‘Riverever’ will be out later this year. In the meantime, You can get 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. Follow me for mythopoetic inspiration and @wildnatureheart for my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work.

BECOME AN OBSESSIONATE ONE

F8C6B24A-E26D-41FE-BAB3-103E4CC88950If you begin each chapter
with ‘and the moon comes
and the moon goes’

You, who climb horizons
even with stiff joints

will find it’s always a new world
as it’s always the old one

Your responsibilities lay
in the soil now
and with the webbed ones
caught in fear

and through the new doorways
which you pass
you’ll pick up pieces left
in your canyons so long ago

Put them in your wide-brim hat
and home in on your belonging

become an obsessionate one
like a convict who loves his fate

Tie those dreamland suns
to your dirty feet

Fill your grotto with flocks of fire
for the unspoken desire at the bottom
and all of hunger’s cousins

Forget all glamour
not worrying about who
is pulling who
Or how stunning you look
when the wind knocks you down

It is enough to receive Time’s wounds and blessings
and breathe like an ocean
one tide at a time

So, yes, let each chapter begin—
‘And the moon comes
and the moon goes’

And bear witness to each season
like a raven

THE PRECIOUS THINGS

It is understandable now
how all the Precious things
go into hiding

Even in the village the voices
become too much with us

And we feel must either flee
to our beloved
or stuff all the precious things
under our rug

Hoping we’ll catch a glimpse of
the spark, some small portion
in the silent hour under cloak of night

It mitigates the damage done
Is something we say to ourselves.

Soon, we look in the mirror
and a Dragon appears

And wonder what hour it is
and what kind of creature
we’ve become

And our neighbor
also stashes treasures
under their moonsoft dreampillow
And even puts some of them out
on trash day

The late hour’s owlsong has us choosing:
shall we be the dragon who hoards

Rich and beautiful
in our desolate loneliness

Or the Dragon
who drops gold with every print
Warmth with every flap of the wings

in an amnesiac world determined
to hide all the precious things

But some slant of dawn,
some chant of birds
some wayward drift of poet’s words,
finds our eyes our ears our heart bringing back our precious parts

How Many Leaves Have Landed In Me?

82e95508-b8da-4f24-a2ab-f2aac78cbcf5How many leaves have landed in me
that I have not yet heard?

That I might shake a cool meaning out of
and launch some season,
some solemn ceremony of better belonging?

That I might compost to build a richer soil?

Might sprout some discourse wide as sky,
deep as the memory of dirt,
seasoned with ripe time?

How many leaves have landed in me
that I’ve yet the ears to hear?

-Ryan Van Lenning

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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, 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.

ARRHYTHMIA

4A09B959-C338-4A5C-AF47-84C814CE3699Where did the moon in you go?

To what unworthy machine
have you chained yourself

that even now your heart beats
with such abnormal rhythm?

The hour has come to thrust
your chest skyward
to plant your feet and let the season
season you

False beats and terrible tides
and all the big lies have you
sweating
all the wrong things

For the dawn and dusk of you
have been hidden too long
behind the purchase of scandalous belongings

Behind the veil of acceptance
that cowardly cloak
woven by strangers’ hands

Still, some pulse in you
stalks you
the boundless fiery, elemental truth
in you
pounding out its irrepressible throb

Make a dwelling of it
that dark red root that grabs you
in the night

like a whispering lover
who knows your true heart
and its unstoppable rhythm

—Ryan Van Lenning

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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, 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.

Back Into the Channel

6AF140C4-0AB9-4281-81E8-B0E6F560CD0AI step back into the channel
of things
relinquishing the shore
and the destination

and all those goosebumps that climb up
my forearm and send tentacles down over my shoulders
into the mother river of my spine

are messages from the one who becomes
and no translation is possible here

I’m going for human this time
stretched from holdfast to the basement
of the heart

but it’s human to have a dream of spring
under the skin

and I’m going for human
quitting all argument with the vast otherness
and surrendering all the black notes
to the sun

but why oh why is the seed of truth
so difficult to sow
when even now I sing off key

when truth be told
I want to sleep, I want to not live
in some big love dream

but close my ears and fall like hail
in a storm

down on the weak, the past,
the false, the hollow bones of me…

yet I’ve heard and not merely heard
I’ve walked and not merely walked
I’ve lived in that country, that place,
where there is no guarantee but the great river’s flow
and that moment is where I live like a king

still, why should I trust you,
big dream heart?
whispering calm assurances
when you just might be my ancient superstition

you must know my need to rage, and rampage
across the landscape

I want my undammable energies
to hail upon the four kingdoms
to cast into stone all unworthies
then break them to pieces
for not being…what?

My guttural utterances
are silver-lipped thunder striking
terrible certainties upon the world

But you, amidst all that,
you merely open
your dumb, soft hands

guiding more silent than midnight

and I, that I that keeps slipping
keeps slipping into them,
and out of them

And back in again…