Not a Poem: Just a talk about a tree. . .

Not a Poem

Just a talk about a tree; a madrone I found in the forest

It had a scar like me, and smooth red bark —

maybe lightening hit it in a storm one night

I run my hand up and down its silky side

Feels so good I put my arms around its trunk

to feel the whole thing

I’m not really a tree hugger; that embarrasses me

But what the hell, nobody’s around

I feel the smooth red trunk cool against my face;

the thick roundness in my arms

I glance up into the wild branches; into the rust and ochre leaves

Peace, quiet, fullness move through me,

inside me

In the darkness, behind my closed eyes,  I wonder,

“Who are you, this roundness, this quiet strength,

this filling of the heart?”

“Are you really a great madrone in the forest —

Or some beauty of a Horse I know?”

Feels just the same.

 

(Two poems follow, originally written as one, about a horse and her friend and an unexpected bonding.)

 

Mystic

 

The morning is still sharply cool

Sun’s not warmed all the spots around the corral

I’m walking through the dusty grounds toward Mystic

She’s devoted this time of the morning

to a feed sack on the fence

“Hmmm, — what’s to love about a dry chunk of grass?” I ask

I try to imagine  —  No luck.

 

I’m a little hesitant, looking at her,

but sure do want to touch two soft ears,

to have her greet me with a sideways glance and maybe

a gentle nudge

The sight of her warms something in me;

I feel giddy,  excited,  –  can’t contain happiness.

I wonder,  “Am I grinning a lot, or is this just happening inside?”

 

How does a Horse make you do that? …

 

Magical Mystic

…. Now, not to change the subject, but

I wish my pants were smoother.

“Why’s that?”

Well, I don’t want to wrinkle her silky back, make it itch.

I don’t want her to be uncomfortable.

I want to treat her like a queen.

After all, she gives me rubies and sapphires and diamonds.

And I want to know, how do you return that?

Smooth pants are a start.

 

Anyway, later I’ll say, “hello,” rub her long nose, and then

slowly clamber upon her.

If  I’m lucky I’ll take a ride, alone, in a very far away magical place

Where love kisses grief, &  giant heart fills unending space

Yes, that’s it!  A ride on a magical Mystic tour –

In the morning, in the sunlight, in the cool sharp air

—- around a dusty corral.

 

— Jan Lytjen