MY NAME IS BELONGING

A0661C0A-A30E-4E4B-AA43-8E752AFFF30CThey say the first step
is admitting
you have an addiction

So here goes
—my name is Mystery,
I’ve been here
a million times

and Yes, I take heaping spoonfuls of galaxies
when I should be sleeping

I gulp in the seasons
whenever I see one one
sitting out on the table

My name is Abundance,
and I swallow fat Oceans
calorie-dense forests
and whole fields of lupine
when I think no one is looking

My name is Curiosity,
and I look under rocks
and climb through dark caves running my hands
against the wet walls

My name is Insatiable
and I chew
on entire mountain ranges
just to get high

I have no idea what they say about the second step,
I wasn’t listening.

I was too busy sitting
on the edge of the cliff
watching the sun retire
and caressing the bark
of the madrone tree

My name is Belonging.

TRUST THE CEREMONY, FUCK THE CEREMONY, TRUST THE CEREMONY

A651C58F-7769-4D74-BF94-0466BDF1EE85My riotous and radiant blood, indecipherable force of life, open-handed offering.

A falling forward
in bright brave trust.

Each season a holy journey.

Each breath a miracle,
a letting go,
a sacred, stunning dawn.

WHAT DO YOU HEAR WHEN YOU LISTEN TO LICHEN GROW?

D6A52611-6978-4212-A7D8-C76EC3CB7930In a mountain cave
under the spell
of a turbulent creek
I listen to lichen grow

Under the smell
of a winter rain
I listen to a landscape’s
green resurrection

Enchanted, I become velvety
like moss

I become patient like stone

I become beflowed like water

and suddenly remember
that I am
a songbird
a spiderweb
a sprouting buckeye

and wild like worms
in the hill beside me
escaping the flood

What do you hear when you listen to lichen grow?
13ABA56F-7C2D-400F-9FE3-4FBD2C192F28.jpeg
#ryanvanlenning
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Included in a new collection ‘No Lies on the Mountain’. That and my collection of love and erotic poetry, ‘Wild Rose Hips’, my book of mystery poems ‘Silence Begins Here’, 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. 🌿🐝🐺🌲🔥 🌍🙏🏽

OF SPORE AND STORM

75294C65-DE3F-4A0C-9641-53AA7BE42F3DAbundance will take care of itself

like those countless spores
on the belly of the mushroom
the shape of private parts
commuting on the wind.

But they’re not private.

They’re out there
for the whole world
in teeming pomp and pageant

like the passing storm
handing out droplets
to every eager passerby
not holding back anything.

So Yes, be the wetness.

Be the spore and storm
in boundless beneficence.

There’s no chance of failing then.

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION – DISINTEGRATE

75C1352C-5881-43D0-95D8-6E454D9CD74B

Are you still disintegrating?

It’s ok, all things do
if they’re doing it right

Of course this winter business
is no summer picnic

If you wonder if you have
the heart for it
remember you were carried here by all the previous seasons

Each lending their magnificent layers and lessons

Look! Notice your sediment being communicated
by the river to the great sea

Besides, there’s really no
other way
than to keep breaking down
and composting yourself

How else can the rich soil of you
be the nest of all the new chirps waiting to be hatched in you?

—Ryan Van Lenning

WINK YOU INTO THAT OBSIDIAN NIGHT

A749480D-E45B-4D96-90CF-50E2E658ADDA
Frogs announce it’s bath-time,
but Time and Space are just bad habits
when you take off your robe
to dip into the cosmic hot springs

Ease your wrinkled mind
and wash off all that debris
that’s collected around your eyes and ears
since this morning
when you were just a baby
so innocent and bright-eyed
and full of dreams

Settle in for a bedtime story—
Which is it this time,
the one about the trickster thief
who saved the world
or the one about the drunken saint
who cracked open a thousand hearts?

The dirt and the moon argue
over who loves you more
and owl and coyote take turns
tucking you in with their lullabies—
winking you into that obsidian night
where threads of dreamcloth weave themselves around your cleansed heart

Until once again you awake a newborn
Tossing fresh songs into the sky