Saturday, September 29, 2012

Sometimes on a Mountain in September

Using this picture poem as a model/inspiration, we were let loose behind Daniel's Summit Lodge to take photos so we could write a poem too.

After taking all the photos and reviewing them when I came back in so I could start writing, this is what I came up with.

And I wonder if it might change your reading of this poem to know that I was thinking of my grandpa who passed away in February, and my grandma he left behind, as I was taking these pictures and writing this poem.

Leaves, brown and crumpled,

Crunch under
My still new
but now dirty Nikes.

Rocks litter the muddy ground.

Forcing me to look down
And watch
Where I step.
Instead of being able to look
Where I want to look:
At blue sky
And bright yellow
Autumn leaves.

Flies buzz.
Calling my attention
Back down from the sky.
They buzz…
Resisting the approaching
And inevitable

Resisting their imminent

Staring down.
At the brown.
The mud.
The crunch.
The flies.
The ending of life.

Even noting the rusty nail.
Of iron particles dying in the air.

The fence extends
Seemingly forever
Like life.

This wood

A corpse.
Lying there.
Long and old and tired
After putting up a fight.

And this one.
All alone.
Sick and suffering and
Still seeking
The sky.

Or these,
Seemingly huddled together
In a mass,
A pile,
A grave.

Like they couldn’t live
Without each other.

I resist the death encircling me,
The death that approaches,
The death that has already come:
The fallen trees.
The buzzing flies.
The dangerous rocks.
The eternal, rusty fence.

And look up.

At the trees that tower over us.

As if to remind us
What a short time
This really is.

And look up
At the trees who
Reach up
And fight.
The trees who
Never forget to see the light.

The light which will 
Bring life again.

And look up

At the ones who still have life.

Look up
At the trees who,
No matter how small or weak,
Stick together
To fight in the oncoming battle.

And, with my dirty Nikes
that are still new,
Walk on. 

1 comment:

Jonathan Hiller said...

I logged onto Facebook,
And saw you wrote a poem.

I sat back and read it,
From the comfort of my home.

I thought of the life,
Of the seasons that pass by.

The cycle of life with joy,
And times that make us cry.

The life is full of beautiful things,
Like trees, streams, and rocks.

Good thing you didn't splash in the mud,
And dirty your clean socks.

From trees, and rocks, and crumbly leafs,
And all the autumn clues.

I'm sorry you had to go on a hike,
And dirty your cute shoes