9CAB1217-D9DB-475D-99F7-2C1E671F8612You recall a cabin
on the edge of town
in woods of alder and oak

There were big windows
on every side
and a porch stretched around
like a loose fitting belt
just barely keeping things in

sometimes it was a stepping stone to the world
and sometimes it was a moat keeping things out

You recognize it
because it was your house
and a life was built there
once upon a time

And on the porch you recall
there was an old table
crooked, but round and steady

And Love was on the table
resting shiningly

and whenever the front door cracked open
it flooded in like dawn

sometimes you noticed
other times not

Each morning you raced to all the Theres
trying to earn your belongingess
of an eager world
wanting proof

And when you returned later
the porch and the table
were still there

and when you cracked the door
to the home you built

sometimes you noticed
the light pouring in
and sometimes not

When dusk settled in
for its daily prayer

Love became the moon
illuminating parts of the cabin
that even the sun can’t reach

and flowed through the window
silhouetting a figure curled up
before the fireplace—
a dog or a wolf—
your memory isn’t clear

But then a particular morning came.

After a long, winter night—
that kind that is both cold and cozy
and full of memories and rest and safety—
a morning greeted you different
than others.

You remember because
the door wouldn’t close
and after a while you didn’t want it to close

and abhorring a vacuum
the light couldn’t help itself
and went swimming through
all the rooms

and instead of rushing to all
the Theres of the world
you paused on the porch

you noticed something out of the corner of your soul

And pulling a chair
up to that crooked table

you broke your fast
and had a morning meal
with Love
One of 75 poems in RE-MEMBERING: Poems of Earth & Soul. You can get Re-Membering and High-Cooing Through the Seasons: Haiku From the Forest through your local bookstore, on Amazon or Indiebound, Link in bio.


51F2D59B-7AC1-4AA8-8D80-D9CC913A65A9You’re not getting out
until the truth forms a dawn in you.

I’ll gather up the finest moon
and lather colors on the edge

I’ll blow a new wind through the dunes
through all your sunset silhouettes

I’ll scatter several shooting stars
among your pretty confused heads.

But truth be told
you’ll not get out
until the final truth can shout.

The gate is locked, the gate is closed!
It won’t open until all’s disclosed.
The gate is closed, the gate is locked!
it won’t open until all’s unblocked—

the inner chamber where waters start
the ears to hear the healer’s art
the hands to hold the truest friend
the eyes to see the patterns end.

This is the Tsunami zone
where the taste of love,
the very pulse of life
carries the threat of drowning

You’ll want to flee to higher ground
where everything seems safe and sound

You’ll want to keep one foot out
the moment’s door, to feed the doubt

The secret’s there, you know its truth
For so long we’ve been telling you:

To stay in you and ride the wave
to blessed be and boldly brave
and flip that mighty mermaid’s flip
until shapes of love form your lips

the waves still crash upon your shore
but not the conflict any more.

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. 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. 🙏🌍🤠🦊🌲💚

Down to the Skin at Last

F6493E87-7B38-4127-83EB-519B4997775BSplash of red, bring me a tortoise head.

Open the blessed spiral once again
and spread unguaged, unmeasured.

Weeds need not outgrow me yet.

The light with sweetness conquer
The dark, with song.

You can’t catch raven,
so join his club.

Not all your preposterous belongings
need a witness
but all need watering–Drink!

Holy, you there, the stone in you
inclined and breathing out the sighs unsized–
mark this moment, it heeds you well, saying:

Begin with wind, end with the sea.

Down to the skin at last.

Earth Night: Three Cheritas

Blue Creek WaterfallI. Primary Pleasures

Earth Day

Missing the show and forgetting to eat
we make our own show

And instead feed our senses
with the texture of water and trees
and the scent of each other’s stories


II. Conversations

The resistance begins—

“I am not ready,”
you tell your pulsing magenta heart.

“My door is too narrow
and I don’t want this,” you lie.
Yet the cracking continues unabated.

III. Night Falls

Earth Night cracks open.

Feet in the cold creek
falling down the canyon

Night falls, walls fall
warm hearts follow the creek
falling through each other’s twisted canyons

-Ryan Van Lenning

A cherita is a poetic form that I learn about from from poet Annie R. Ray. Cherita [pronounced CHAIR-rita] means ‘story’ in Malay and was created by poet ai li in 1997 in memory of her grandparents. It arises out of the English-language haiku and tanka traditions, but allows for a micro-narrative and is slightly more flexible in form and style. It consists of a one-line stanza, then a two-line stanza, and ends with a three-line stanza.

Dancing Between Raindrops

dance-in-raineach time she giggles
in between high notes
singing arias

between raindrops
to avoid getting wet
like a witch’s trick

skips across the grass
with her tongue out
to taste the world

I see her

and fall for her
yet again

by the force of her
fierce open heart

Image Credit: