POETRY IN THE FOREST

 

We are proud to announce a new feature to the Sanguine Root.  We are accepting poems about the topics we discuss. Please feel free to send us your poems, and we can publish them in Poetry in the Forest.

The Woods Wait

wintergreen spreads
next to partridge berry
beneath brown birch leaves.
Spindly evergreens, pine mostly,
lean gently to the ground.

The brook has overflowed
washing over swamp cabbage
sprouts springing from warm soil.
Their graceful curves in bloom even
as winter settles the ground to freezing
covers the berries, snaps the branches.

Tomorrow the hunting season begins.
Silence disturbed only when leaves rustle
will rend with gunfire. Signs of deer are too plenty.
They will multiply and starve without
men’s violence to bring them down
whose actions have brought them here.

Regret is not enough now. The woods
wait for the swift death we can deal to
keep a balance, once the task of mountain lion
and grey wolf. In the witch hazel grove
yellow blossoms hold themselves unbloomed
until the cold will come.

Maureen Solomon

 

January, 2011
Today in the park we talked to the trees …
… & to stones. & to the creek
we told the creek we knew that people
had given it a name—but (I) couldn’t say it.
It felt like ownership We told the
creek we didn’t want to own it. How
happy it made us, watching it flow past,
free of us, of our need to bind it to a name!
We told the trees the story of the Poem Tree
—how it had found a second life they must
be pleased, we thought—to hear a story of a
tree come back to life. & (I) felt such happiness!
That it was right, telling them this story that what
we had done was perfectly natural & right & goodLater, on the upper path there was no need to tell
the story it was enough to greet them they knew
they understood their roots in the same earth.
their branches moved by the same wind…

 Submitted by Jacob Russell

 

The  Witch Hazel Grove

Deep in the woods behind the house
past the streams and beyond the Mountain Laurel
there is a grove of witch hazel.

Oval and with space between the bushes
which stand tall and sway gently
as we move among them.

This grove is surrounded with an aura
of gentleness and silence. Not like
a single bush or a lone tree.

This is a meditation place
there is a center here and the woods
grow around it.

Time may slow down. Small forest
mice feel safe. Overhead the trees
lean in a simple bow.

July 2011

M. Solomon

3 Responses to “POETRY IN THE FOREST”

  1. Maureen Solomon says:

    The Witch Hazel Grove

    Deep in the woods behind the house
    past the streams and beyond the Mountain Laurel
    there is a grove of witch hazel.

    Oval and with space between the bushes
    which stand tall and sway gently
    as we move among them.

    This grove is surrounded with an aura
    of gentleness and silence. Not like
    a single bush or a lone tree.

    This is a meditation place
    there is a center here and the woods
    grow around it.

    Time may slow down. Small forest
    mice feel safe. Overhead the trees
    lean in a simple bow.

    July 2011

    M. Solomon

  2. mayapple says:

    Thank-you Jacob, we will put this on the page. Of course this must be about Morris park, but I can think of so many other creeks this could be applied to.

  3. Jacob Russell says:

    January, 2011
    Today in the park we talked to the trees …
    … & to stones. & to the creek
    we told the creek we knew that people
    had given it a name—but (I) couldn’t say it.
    It felt like ownership We told the
    creek we didn’t want to own it. How
    happy it made us, watching it flow past,
    free of us, of our need to bind it to a name!
    We told the trees the story of the Poem Tree
    —how it had found a second life they must
    be pleased, we thought—to hear a story of a
    tree come back to life. & (I) felt such happiness!
    That it was right, telling them this story that what
    we had done was perfectly natural & right & good

    Later, on the upper path there was no need to tell
    the story it was enough to greet them they knew
    they understood their roots in the same earth.
    their branches moved by the same wind…

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