art imitates life





the trail is too narrow 

to walk side by side, i walk 

behind colin, following

his long strides, admiring

his long legs. i am not

a hiker, but i am not dainty

which means, thus far

i can keep pace. we're quiet,

hiking seems to be aural

my eyes on on the trail

my senses, especially hearing

attune to natural input




an hour ago i was chilly


now shorts and a tee 

are more than enough


the weight of my small pack

makes its presence known


colin suggests i think of it

as my home away from home

carrying all i could ever need


food, clothing, shelter


what about my cello, think i




in the morning we wake to frost

colin makes a fire

we make tea and instant oatmeal


he says we'll reach the gorge by noon


i'm sore, i feel a long way from home

and very dependent on colin 




by noon we reach the gorge

a bouldered creek almost white

with snow melt rushing downward

going over, around, and seemingly under

huge blocks of tumbled granite


the creek flows into a lake, a black lake

with a rippling, sun-specked surface

surround by pines so dark they too appear 

almost black, the mountain sloping

steeply into the lake, i can only imagine

the depth, and have no desire to plumb it


the trail comes to an outcropping

overlooking the lake, then veers left

and right, both ways circling the lake

but we stop here atop the rocky cliff


this is our destination




colin sheds his pack and clothes 


off he goes, a prince swan-diving

into a nether realm, so it seems


surfacing yowling and beaming

shaking his beach-boy hair

sun-sparkled drops his crown


he says exactly what i expect


does he expect me to demur


off with it, all of it, clothes and me

arcing into the sky, arms flung outward

back arched, legs straight, toes pointed


soaring, never to touch down












Poetry by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 838 times
Written on 2016-03-09 at 00:27

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Ah, Colin again. It is pleasant to walk, though this is possible only in dreams for our FT, of course, whether conscious or not. We enjoyed the journey to the gorgeous gorge and then the description, particularly the 'swan-diving'. All at Coo & Co muse on swans and smile together :>)

Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
It's as though I was on the trail, hiking to the summit, enjoying and using all my senses as your imagery concocts and satisfies all in my mind's eyes, ears, nose, touch, etc. Then the leap from the summit took my breath away...
I'm soaring...

This is like watching a movie. It's beautiful and the ending is breathtaking. "Soaring, never to touch down ..." That's a mysterious ending for there are several meanings that could come to mind. Beautiful! Soaring like a bird is the way I see it.
Ashe :-)

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
You'll touch down, and I'll hear your howl from here. This is a fine poem.

I love how this leaves you, like the picture, within that intense moment of mid-fall. It's both awesome and deeply uncomfortable (kind of like being out in nature, in my opinion). You also catch the shift in perception that happens when hiking for long hours. Best to avoid picking out single lines, but I do like: "a prince swan-diving into a nether realm."

Nancy Sikora
A beautiful poem. You caught the peace of the outdoors, the depth of the woods and the cold of the creek perfectly.