The way you travel
on the time bound planet,
to follow or not
the deeply rutted road
or find yourself
in a dark wooded valley
unknown to everyone
but yourself.
When stripped down
to marrow and bone,
the only resource
what you harvest from within,
stay with the river,
wear down your boots;
remember freedom
is not for the weak
or easily frightened.
That cabin in the far clearing
with smoke from the chimney,
keep walking pilgrim,
it may be yours.
You wrung my heart dry with this one, Dear Brother…
Thank you for knowing THIS ROAD– it is SO NICE to be “seen.”
Love & Gratitude
This is a perfect poem..in every way
reminiscent of the eastern mystics but framed into our world…
Thanks for your wise words
The only harvest you have is what you harvest within…wise words.
Don, this is very good, very clever. Thank you.
Beautiful, Don. My little poem in a similar vein.
Winter Bones
Dropping through layers
Rosy skin wet with dew
To blood, muscle, sinew
Reaching skeletal depth
Grey and pliable in life
White and calcified in death
Winter bones of the ancestors.
Beautiful Don. And the photo!! What a human being!!! Love that too. Thank you for providing so much nourishment and light.
It takes marrow and bone to endure Winter season, and to find joy in it. Compassion for Blackfeet Nation where has been little time to prepare.
After a day on the Brahamaputra River in Assam, India, this beautiful poem speaks loudly to the Hotel Guys as we explore NE India. Thank you brother for your frequent love notes! Hugs!
See our adventures at Hotelguys.com
Rich and Paul
PS…As Robert Bly taught me, always read a poem outloud twice!