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


Spiral In Beauty Way

59499619_317234725878934_8046223539278174835_nLet’s spin greenly into each other

Make a playful pact and sign it
with the green ink of sunlit trust

Let’s walk the Spiral-in-Beauty Way
Proclaim Yes the shimmers

Yes all the hues, old patterns and new ripples

Yes the great green garments of summer
and its endless faces

Let’s green our minds
and pour the old songs
into each other’s heart-mouths

Unfurl into each other’s laps
until we have no more defense
against the miracles


Dedicated to the ferns, Giant swamp lantern leaves, and the letter Green
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 @wildnatureheart for my heart-centered nature connection & 1-on-1 inner/outer wilderness work.


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Kiss Me a Blackberry

E5043A02-EA24-4EC2-A14E-66449737DDA5Do you remember the old sounds?
Let’s put a paw up and funnel them in.

The silent prayer of a pebble.
The bright August bursts of Ha!

Abundance conquers all
in the shape of whistles and waves and even ants have families.
Do you hear it?

Teach me water, the sun is here–
paint me all the early joys
and meet me at the bottom of things,
where the door opens.

Who steps in? What door?
Does it wiggle?

Take your shoes off and step through–
I’ll caress your shapely wound.
Tell your pain, the owl has ears.
I’ll be your Duke of Willows, King of Mud.

Then, kiss me a blackberry
stain your lips
rich with desire around my…

a sweetlings gift.

Flow me your inscrutable peach
and dive me silver
deep like whale
I’m no pond to cross.

The wind forgives, a birdlet flies free.

Blackberry Moon

A07DF7A9-980D-443A-A798-5677AFF364C6It will take several lifetimes to reach you,
we said to the moon,
but only a moment to reach out
and grab these berries
you’re plumping up
on the sandy banks

one of its vines is reaching out
like a tentacle searching for tongues
roping us in

so for now we sit all a’brambled
enjoying a midnight picnic
one by one, popping them in our mouths
with moon-cooked mirth and a glad mouth
stained purple and free

Start With a Frog

81ACCF7F-64B3-4D36-A6A4-A2D2DFBF1447Start with a frog. In the mud
by the shore the day begins.

In the sky by the hawk, inside the stones under water.

Whatever word they use to mean how morning’s light on low rapids…
—use it here.

Tell me, how did the day smile from each corner of its face?

But it was doing it with glee and fire.

Oh, if I were but a builder….
An altar at each place.

The thing about Now—no monuments serve better than presence. How to praise.

I opened my hands and found a sun—all the sand had poured out.

Along with all the sighs I’d been gathering since June
joining the other out breaths of an August flow.

And I swear I’m not a hoarder.
The mouse is not convinced.

Without trying I touched everything:

pampas grass and salmon
mustard and poison oak
more red than red alder leaves
Jupiter and all the whiskers
found me
all the flickers white-banded
and belling into the wind.

And of course those frogs
delicate and intrepid.

When I hitched my beautiful cloud to the river-chord
after all these eons,
finally! the heron believed me.

So, picking 730 blackberries to celebrate,
one for each moment of the morning,
I stained myself the deep color of joy.