Shoreside, Crystal Pond

IMG_3457Shoreside, Crystal Pond 

(c) 2015 Jace Paul

It’s dawn and the water is white and clean.

I pick up a pen and put my feet into the waves.

There are no boats to interrupt the trees in morning prayer;

Houses hunker down and hold the snoring bores within;

Still the lake takes my toes like

It has a fetish, its kindness knocks

Me over,

Supine, I, can wallow in the sky.
And it’s twilight and the water is right and clean.

I think too, you, see the cormorant, the snapping turtle,

And marvel at their potential.

We feel and see the grain of a good wood,

And with pinched fingers

Make a minor church.

I rest my pen and put my feet into the waves,

And minders mind their waterfront property,

Berth the boats, ignore the trees in prayer,

Hunker down in boring houses scored by sin,
And it’s dead of night, the stars give up their long dead light,

And the water is bright and clean.

This poem and many others is available in Where You Will Find Me by Jace Paul.

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“Brahman at Black Spruce Pond”

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Draft copy – (c) 2016 Jace Paul. No unauthorized use or reproduction permitted.

Brahman at Black Spruce Pond

The Ranger warned me:

“Don’t hike alone, or…” –
– or what?

I might grapple with a mother bear?

I may crack my head on an erratic, or

drown in the river, or

struck by the arm of a dying tree?

 

This petrifying fear of life limned –

What wasted wonder,

If I hit the ground, I’m ready to begin.

To kvetch because I might go under

away from the fussing eyes

of the Proper Custodians of Demise –

What wasted wonder!

 

How welcome – hear this – to be unfurled

as a cradle of moss;

to link up with the soul of an infant pine, skyward climbing

and know this: my light would finally magnified

And justified, the meager flames done starving on bare survival

unbound to fly across

the floor of the world.

 

I have no breath for calamity,

To fall, to feed the ferns and trees

Would be to die as who I lived to be.