THAT POEM UNDER YOUR SKIN

EB7515F6-0598-41AD-A5B4-63C13F0861A2That poem that lives under your skin?

That poem may be so far under your skin
you might need the raven’s cry
to claw its way in at dawn

You might need an unkempt trickster
to fool your eyes
in order to fling a true word or two from within your pretty vault

But then the poem will roll off
your skin
all mist and moist
an offering to the earth

It’ll stain your fingers with beets
Your lips with wine
Your thighs with blood

It’ll write your forehead with mud
Your back with her scratch
Your arm with Hafiz

Your story with a wound
will shapeshift and a wild coursing will resume

It’ll entangle your head with the storm
Your hair with twigs
Your eyes with the moon

Or are you here to let your poem sleep through it all?

Then form your raw rituals
and let the world nibble it awake
#ryanvanlenning

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.

FRECKLE

5FF9E469-C635-40F6-BE55-5F9800761CAAI want the slightest freckle to fall
off the smile-side of the season’s face

To land on me with a new breeze
blowing through
like a queen of love
sovereign of the land

One I only recognize after
it has turned the corner on itself
onto the next affair

I’d grin in recognition,
knowing that from its soft brown kiss
I’d gather mountains of meaning
and make a home

Then my eyes would widen,
as I laughed from inside
my fifth bone, I’d slow
my endless doings
that try to reserve a place
at the table of belonging

knowing a freckle is just a freckle.

Yet not less than a freckle.

Knowing I’d worship its art,
it’s soft beauty
that will fade with the invisible current.

Knowing the mottled-leaf of me
too will drop

And like you, autumn,
I’d take my turn

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

UNSCREW YOURSELF FROM DOORJAMB NIGHT

733E32AF-5C80-4E26-A5EE-8F90549CC746I’ll tell you how the long day ends
in the final hour of June, she said

with her kaleidoscopic coyote grin
and crook-eyed cricket gaze again
she sipped her nightcap hot and holy
in her ripped and airy lilac gown

aiming cat-tails towards venus west
after molten sun had bolted down

new moon me, she said, with glee
whipping wild her wide-eyed face
inside rhubarb ribbons racing
lacing up the vest of night

then offering peaches bruised just right
brewed up nicely for blue hearts
led early plums with early stars
to come out playing without a fight

Spiraling starly and madly Mars
around the skinny of her scar

I’m not the dream you thought you had
she sang with all her lovely fangs

Roam free and yes roam wide
throw those damned doors aside
unscrew yourself from doorjamb nights

was the last thing to me she said
before the month of June had fled

#ryanvanlenning