3BEB20AB-3C3A-4C4F-A24C-E353547648AA.jpegHarbor buoys bugle
the sun to sleep
and wake the moon from her eastern slumber—
a changing of the guard

As the waves beat that old song
at the foot of our rock
curling the dark into itself

The syllables of the sea’s
vast rhythm confounds

But up here, the moon speaks clearly
and follows us
no matter how well we hide

And we like it that way.

Restoring some pace
with peace poured into it
like the light shimmering down
on the season’s cool waters


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
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

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.

She Saunters Ripe With Season

33149715-D2D9-4423-9DEE-0CC034D5FB77She, like moon with no undue pace
but that of her slow wonder
wanders to where the brambles bend
in homage to their heavy load, gifts

ripe with the season, soft with promise

she puts down her titles, duties
into river time
and loves herself like water soft and flowing
sauntering like an artist

ripe with the season, soft with promise

stoops to smell the everlasting, the sage
stops to feel her skin, the sun
stops to feel the things moving
winding her way through the day

until with gentle feet and clear heart
dusk arrives, a new moon opens up

ripe with the season, soft with promise

The Push and Pull of the Thing

DC36226D-220D-419F-8012-6190468FCCF9What do you do when above all
It’s the rhythm uncooked, the rush of the raw
The moon-kissed river within and thawed
Most precious, unbolted and brightly awed
Original blood pulsed and odd?

When even if you owned nothing at all
Nothing else under silvered skies
But the sink of the sun, the startling rise
When the push and pull of the thing was the all?

And the goldupongold, the unlikely prize
wealth beyond dreams deferred or dried
not festered or stunk or sunk with a load
but light as a feather, finely floating
like a film on the water finally flowing?

What do you do but swim and ride
waggling and wagging and wild-eyed?