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    Poem from Here ~ Introduction

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    I love the richness that Larry Robinson offers us nearly every day. His commitment to poetry & the oral tradition helps steer the ship of the world toward sanity & health. Starting this week, I hope to add another voice to this poetic dialog, posting a poem each week written about this place. These poems are about our land, our history, our bioregion, our people, our waters, our weather—the big spirit & little details of our home.

    I plan to share my own poems, but may include the work of other poets from time to time. The intention is to celebrate our place & explore our relationship to all that happens here.

    Thank you, Barry, for providing a community forum for offering this work.

    ~ Sandy Eastoak
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    Poem from Here ~ Redwoods

    redwoods


    how long ago
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    is the voice you hear
    stopping in silence
    among their big
    weights rising

    how thousand
    the breathing years
    & years
    the damp rolling
    off their trunks

    misty cloud
    in the light
    of a millionth
    morning
    green moss
    singing

    how old the fingers
    that weave
    the bark
    red gray ridges
    swirling & fraying
    higher higher

    how vast the hands
    that cup the
    sheltering needles
    into sky & hold
    through merciful
    breezes & violent
    storms

    miles & miles of clouds
    racing the globe
    drop their stories
    in the web of
    sky spidering
    green always
    green

    the redwoods
    drop the stories
    from far away
    with the wet needle
    drip of close
    close fog

    mingle them with
    billions whispered
    under their shade
    told by tender tracking
    roots conversing
    with mycelium acres

    tiny human
    when silent
    among the fire resistant
    trunks attended by
    fern & lichen & sorrel
    you can hear the forever
    of past joking with
    unimaginable
    future

    the simple
    call of jay or
    fugue of raven
    flash of bolete or
    shimmer of tan oak
    in the skittering
    light

    becomes significant
    as the first ever
    smile

    eloquent as the
    very last word

    a salvation
    unto itself
    & all our
    relations



    ~ from Praise Poems by Sandy Eastoak




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