Shannon Rooney

EARTH SPIRIT WISDOM


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Dissolve 
 
Dissolve back
into green haven,
gentle bower of
creek-flow of
sky scattered with
sweet love of
puffed cloud upon
puffed cloud of
blue jay screeching of
red-tailed hawk twee-tweeing of
dandelion fluff
adorning morning breeze. 

Dissolve back,
into ancient mountain refuge,
sheltering forest of
silent deer of
shy, golden-eyed bobcat of
musky smell of rain-fresh earth of
nimble squirrel
dancing amid treetops,
so grey amid
the green of pine. 

Dissolve back
Into welcoming hills,
dependable fortress of
granite
sunning itself
for a million years,
of lumbering brown bears
that disappear at
first light
into dark stands of
sentinel trees.

 

Mountain Refuge

To the click click click of quail,
I count my fortunes: pine-scented air
and the view of the snow-covered peak.
To the raucous scolding of the blue jay,
I measure my riches: vast quantities of time
to wander fragrant woods.
To the cooing of wild doves,
I calculate the height of my edifices:
the tallest pine, covered in moss,
the highest boulder,
where I soak myself
in sun.

Mountain Refuge

To the click click click of quail,
I count my fortunes: pine-scented air
and the view of the snow-covered peak.
To the raucous scolding of the blue jay,
I measure my riches: vast quantities of time
to wander fragrant woods.
To the cooing of wild doves,
I calculate the height of my edifices:
the tallest pine, covered in moss,
the highest boulder,
where I soak myself
in sun.


Deciduous

(for A.J.R.)

Parts of you
have fallen away from me,
have covered the ground
below me.

Like a half-bare tree,
I stand stark
against silver sky,
while parts of you
flutter down
away from me.

Nevertheless, the love shines through,

and all of you, the entirety of you,
lies recorded within me,
etched within my grain,
carved into my hidden design,
and new leaves in spring
will bear your name.

 

Spring Trek

Once again, I am
the wildflower girl--
collecting my buttercups, my shooting stars,
my fragrant lupine, and my vivid wild onion.

Once again, I climb
close to the sun
on old slopes
draped in new green finery.

Once again,
I lie upon the earth,
counting petals.

I am the wanderer
home from the lowland;
I am the gatherer
home from the hunt.

 

Vanished

You disappeared
into the pages of life
like a fictional character,
squirreling yourself away
between plot line and setting,
lying flat in the marshes of denouement,
camouflaging yourself
between bits of dense dialogue.

You ran and hid in a thick tome
of chapters that stood
like shadowy forests of old trees,
living out your character’s
idiosyncratic attributes
which hung like sticky cobwebs
from thick, obscuring branches.

You ran deep into the cavernous narrative,
jumped over the starry climax,
threw down metaphors like gauntlets,
arrayed yourself in cloaks of similes.
The title laughed at your disguise
of nicely placed literary devices,
while the epilogue snoozed
and the prologue watched
with bulging eyes.

You faded away into the subtext,
like a smoke dissipating,
like a pond evaporating.
You slipped far into
the complex themes,
where I could only

dive inside the lines.

 

 

Changing Reality

Let it shatter; let the pieces
scatter and fall,
for shards of desire
beat fragments of hope.
We can cope
with breakage--
vestiges
are what we've known.

Let the blown glass
be blown--
thrown against
the waiting wall
just like
there's no tomorrow,
for tomorrow
is a myth
and to think of it, a sin.

Begin the breaking,
the un-flaking
of this unholy dream,
layer by layer,
prayer by prayer.

Let the breaker
be the slayer
of these lies and whims.
Let the dismantling,
the disassembling,
the taking apart--
start .

 

Bald Eagle at Lake McCumber

He soared with certainty,

gliding over glassy surfaces

as if born for the task--

now and then swooping down,

reaching huge talons

into yielding waters,

emerging with fat, silvery fish.

I paddled the canoe to

his side of the lake,

wanting to know his secret,

craving his self-assuredness,

desiring to know my purpose

as he appeared to know his--

but my purpose drifted just out of reach,

like a bit of mist

floating above

the tranquil lake.

 


Blue Mountains

I look to the blue mountains
in the west
and wonder: What is there?
They stir my imagination, like a puzzle, unsolved.
A two-day, vigorous hike across the valley floor
and I could be there--
it wouldn't be like
scaling Mt Everest or Kilimanjaro.

What would I find
if I walked
to those blue mountains?
What would I discover?
From my vantage point
atop this foothill of the Sierras,
those coastal mountains appear
distant
and full of mystery--
like an exotic land, beckoning.
Would an up-close view reveal
nothing spectacular, or--
a vista unparalleled?
Would I finally see
what I have not understood
and hold
what I have not held
if I ignored trepidation,
listened to the inner whispering,
and set out, resolutely,
for those blue, blue mountains?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
              ©EarthSongSanctuary.org                Updated: July 22, 2013 8:03 AM