Poetry

The Desert

In November auburn gray
Desert hills is where we’ll stay
Sunset orange and softened brown
On our way from hiker town
Golden yellow, clear sunshine
Step by step of desert spine
Smokey blue up in the sky
Resting gently on that fly
For the colors we cannot see
I see the fly inside of me

Poem by Hot Water
Drawing by Wildfire

img_20161106_114933_crop_497x518

 

Desert to mountain
And water to sand
One moment to dust
Another to hand
Sometimes hot
Other times cold
Things happen and thing dissappear
The mind collapses while the heart grows
Everything passes and has it’s time
If I hold on too tight it will slip right through

 

A thought

What I see is what I am. Both living and dead.  What technique can I learn to make me better.  For better or worse what difference does it make.  When things are relative what point do I start at.  This push for progress comes at a price.  The price of never being satisfied with what we have.  I have a bench to sit on, and air to breathe.  Stars to gaze at and time to be.  What more do I want, what more do I need.  Even wanting less is wanting more.  How then do I rest my mind in a state of wu wei.  My ambition for no ambition is the same thing.  So I sit here wondering about the way I perceive.  Each statement I make in my head is surely right and wrong.  So what is the third option, something else outside the box, and outside of the outside.  Searching for something or nothing that could be described.  So then I sit here and let my mind wander where ever it wants to go.  Life is an amazing treat.  And there I feel goosebumps again.  Each time I feel them I think about enlightenment.  That moment when it feels so amazing to be alive; to even be able to think and have problems.  It’s at this time when I’m a perfectly rational being.  To mention all this is to forget what I’m feeling as it changes into abstractions which confuse the initial feeling.  So if I heed my advice I will stop writing about it; for the time being.

 

Wood

Wrightwood, wrongwood
songwood me
hardwood, softwood
sandwood be
flatwood, curvedwood
surewood see
badwood, goodwood
blackwood tree

 

Unknown

To a trail unknown I walk upon bone
From memories past I turn to stone
Each step I take myself I break
Like trees do fall I hear the call


Next: Trailside Radio →