Poetry (From the Trail)

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From the Trail I by M'Larky

I hear the river, she speaks.

She lulls me, she sings me a song of healing, of peace.

Her words are not my words, and yet I understand so perfectly.

Her language is superfluous and eloquent.

Ancient wisdom flows through her; she knows all.

From the Trail II by M'Larky

This beautiful land I walk,

giving me the riches of all things

including the answers to many questions.

Along your fertile ground

I see magic,

and I forget the things

that should not be remembered.

Here, I am free, among

crimson velvet mushrooms:

golden ones with polka dots

from Alice’s Wonderland.

Green verdant moss,

you want to lie down upon.

Golden and scarlet red leaves

fall like shards of stained glass.

The sun shines through them,

turning these pathways

amber with their light.

From the Trail III by M'Larky

 

Sweet, sweet river of giving;

always moving forward.

Filtering unwanted debris

while joyfully continuing your flow.

From the Trail IV by M'Larky

As I walk this path,

I am in awe of Nature

and all that she bestows upon us.

She brings great medicine.

Her beauty alone,

that is here for all of us to see.

The medicine she brings

is all around us.

Easily accessible,

easily seen.

She makes it very simple

if only we open our eyes.

From the Trail V by M'Larky

The water whispers to me

of ancient times and chapters now done.

She sings to me a song;

her words are peace in all things to come.

She lulls me to sleep each night. 

In her arms I am rocked in her wake;

a lullaby of dreams to come.

From the Trail VI by M'Larky

Oh, Mother;

we seldom thank you

for the fruit you bear.

All around us

there is great medicine.

In the plants,

flowers & trees.

You share all of these.

Giving us all

we could ever need.

From the Trail, VII by M'Larky

He towered above me;

His green eyes sparkling

and beckoning me to come on up.

I said, “Oh!  How I’d love to!”

But it was a bit of a stretch at this point,

to entangle myself in his branches.

And, besides, I’m hiking

and just passing through. 

But

thank you.

Familial Roots by M'Larky

Through our roots, our bloodline,

our familial relationships & dynamics;

Rituals from our spiritual experiences & past lives.

Perhaps our roots, like the trees;

our past experience is our sustenance.

Our water, our sun, our nourishment.

Perhaps we are more like the trees than we believe.

This Is A Prayer by M'Larky

Great Mother,

who I tread upon

with great appreciation

of all that you are

and all that you give. 

This is my prayer. 

That all of us, standing, crawling,

moving, singing, crying, dying

will know your love

and all the gifts you give to us.

It is your nature to give

all that you have

and ask nothing in return.

To walk through your valleys, arteries,

muscle, bone is a lesson in how to give.

And in giving without expectation;

cultivating joy.

Such riches abound.

A soliloquy of beauty.

Soliloquy of Beauty by M'Larky

May everyone know this love.

Unadulterated, pure,

with no strings attached at either end;

love.

You take me as I am.

I feel an invisible power

here in an invisible realm.

It speaks to me of life, aliveness, love, compassion.

Nothing else exists here.

This is power I value.

Not of ego nor anything physical

but of something so deep and rich.

Beyond anything visible.

I take this with me now,

on the rest of my journey.

I need only remember.

From the Trail VIII by M'Larky

 Anatole France said,

"To accomplish great things, 
we must not only act but also dream; 
not only plan, but also believe."

I do.  And I will.  Bon Voyage.

The Clomp, Clomp, Clomp by M'Larky

For the 15 minutes that the rain had stopped,

boulders fall from the cliffs above me at Bear Lake;

and I realize that I am holding my breath

and my dogs are holding their breath.

And then it begins.

Clomp!

Clomp!

Clomp!

With the footsteps of the Yeti, the Bushman, the . . . .

One of those moments

when you don’t know

whether you should make noise.

Or pretend you’re dead.

It stops.

Ten feet outside my tent.

I realize I am praying to every deity

I’ve ever been introduced to.

 

Even Sister Mary Charles,

principal of my grade school,

whom I hated.

Anyone, who would listen.

I continue to hold my breath, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

While thinking, “Yeah.  My food pack is in here, too.”

And then.

Clomp.

Clomp.

Clomp.

Away from my tent.

With one unanimous sigh,

from the dogs and I.

It was . . . a fly*.

(*Or a really a big moose.)

From the Trail IX by M'Larky

Walking through

the golden corridors of the woods;

sunlight creeping through

crimson and maple colored leaves.

The sky - that crisp blue.

I am pulled in,

without a care.

Without anything.

But peace.

 

The Trailman by M'Larky

Finn IS the trailman.

He knows where he’s going

and where he’s been.

He wears one hat;

his own.

He knows.