Outside the Fences

Moonlit shadows
on the solstice,
the forest alive
with druid magic.
Nearing midnight
and barely dark
I prowl the shoreline,
the smell of sea
and rushing tide
release the soul
from time’s limits.
Back through
trembling trees
rich in silence,
energy beyond
night and day
pours down
from the sky.
I’m in the old world,
outside the fences
fearful and complacent,
where life it is
and the journey























Reading of “Outside the Fences” with music by Michael Tsarion


9 Responses to “Outside the Fences”

  1. Ravenstalk says:

    ~ Oh Yessssssssssss ~

  2. Maria Frid says:

    Yes, we may continue beyond the fray, loving the beauty! Thank you for your clarity, my friend!

  3. Lloyd Meeker says:

    This poem really stirs me, Don. I could hear the triplet beat of the bodhran driving the rhythm of the lines beneath your words. Gorgeous!

  4. David Banner says:

    Lots of raw emotion in this one…….

  5. Eric Dunn says:

    Beautifully written!

  6. Tom Figel says:

    Don, this is clever. Of course, there has never been the fence that can hold you.

  7. Veronica Lim says:

    Don, your descriptive words are so vivid; they truly awaken the senses. It is if I am there with you as you walk along the shoreline, as you meander among the trees. Thank you.

  8. John Connor says:

    Like the consistent tide, you, with your near 12 years now of new poems every week. Thank you.

  9. David Barnes says:

    Wonderful Don! — In the continuum, pouring down from the sky, you write and speak with with energy beyond night and day — within this continuum, walking the Holy Earth, we recognize a noble and fiery lineage: life it is!

    “The last scud of day holds back for me,
    It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
    It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.
    I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
    I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.
    I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
    If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
    You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
    But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
    And filter and fibre your blood.
    Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
    Missing me one place search another.
    I stop somewhere waiting for you.” (Whitman)

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