Poem from Here

doran


i walk the beach this mild september day
& step into the waves so bright & cold—
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

sunlight bounces blue across the bay,
the sand is shining streaks of brown & gold.
i walk the beach this mild september day.

tiny sandpipers speed from the fray.
the hungry gulls are curious & bold.
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

along the water’s edge some godwits play,
a solitary willet joins their fold.
i walk the beach this mild september day.

dark lines of waves are sailing flags of spray—
i wade deeper, by their spell cajoled.
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

into the wind a kite & vulture sway
as moisture into fog is softly rolled.
i walk the beach this mild september day.
foam swirls around my feet, then floats away.

zucchini


from hunger & the ravages of lack
the great zucchini grows to save us all.
the largess of her bounty can appall
the timid cook. he fills sack after sack
to give away until his friends avoid
his smile. the wide & wooly leaves conceal
more growing squash. already every meal
reveals zucchini. we are overjoyed
to find them small. in shadows giants grow.
their length & girth can shock the bravest. look—
from garden to the kitchen flows a dream
of blossoms, bees, abundant overflow.
first pollen from her stamens gently shook,
then pistils filled her steady, swelling gleam.


~ from Corona Flora by Sandy Eastoak

Lovely
Timely
You garden Sage.

M.

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

zucchini


from hunger & the ravages of lack
the great zucchini grows to save us all.
the largess of her bounty can appall
the timid cook. he fills sack after sack
to give away until his friends avoid
his smile. the wide & wooly leaves conceal
more growing squash. already every meal
reveals zucchini. we are overjoyed
to find them small. in shadows giants grow.
their length & girth can shock the bravest. look—
from garden to the kitchen flows a dream
of blossoms, bees, abundant overflow.
first pollen from her stamens gently shook,
then pistils filled her steady, swelling gleam.


~ from Corona Flora by Sandy Eastoak

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triolet


restful, restful, lying under willow trees -
delusions of the human world dissolve.
the musky smell tells lullabies to breeze -
restful, restful, lying under willow trees.
glittering leaves enfold a nest of ease.
here peace & wisdom lucidly evolve.
restful, restful, lying under willow trees -
delusions of the human world dissolve.


- from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

autumn surf


the ocean sings of time

& endlessness.
her depth & vastness make our fears feel small.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes.

i walk her edge when sad or in distress,
restored by ancient power of her call—
the ocean sings of time & endlessness

the drum of surf soothes my restlessness,
resounding rhythms echoed in us all.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes

the coastal light’s more delicate, unless
a storm rolls in, this fading glow of fall—
the ocean sings of time & endlessness

the seaweed cluttered sand suggests duress—
a ripping out of holdfasts in a squall.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes

adversity can also come to bless,
as can the waves that tower like a wall.
the ocean sings of time & endlessness.
her waves ask questions—always answer yes.


© 2011 Sandy Eastoak

love affair



I ate my lunch among the willows,

chewing shyly, like a timid lover
on the brink of intimate touch.
those two big trunks creaked in the wind,
sounding like a minute from breaking
as they have for many a moon.

above the leaves a quarter moon
squinted down at the willows.
the wispy clouds were breaking
softly to show the sky as lover,
stroked by a gentle wind,
quivering blue at her touch.

I stretched my hand to touch
silvery leaves waving at the moon.
my hair moved in the wind,
dancing in parallel with willows,
who whispered to me like a lover.
the crust of culture was breaking.

my fears & rules were breaking,
melting under the confident touch
of my swaying, rooted lover.
knowing the rituals of the moon,
these wise and playful willows
were changing colors in the wind.

we raised the song of the wind,
from mouth & branches breaking—
I & the beautiful willows.
they buzzed under my touch,
my cheek on their bark. the moon
gazed on the waltzing trees & lover.

all afternoon the glow of lover
followed me like a tireless wind,
carrying sweet smell of the moon.
a secret smile kept breaking,
while my skin still felt the touch
of whispering, shimmering willows.

my lover’s murmurs are still breaking
patterns in a wind of feral touch.
with moon as witness, I kiss willows.


from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

pomo boy


he is so small

among the other dancers
his feather skirt
shocking up & away
the wind of
his tiny feet

his motions are
less complex than
the fast dances

sometimes a slow
dance brings him
to animal
stealth

he convinces
the rabbit spirit

here now

he protects
generations

to come



from Poem As Native © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

bear woman


she’s sleeping
now
up in the hills

that’s when i feel her

walking with me

her long claws
available
for my purposes

i feel her
big body
moving like
strength around me

a dark invisible
force
that loves my
best outcome

her fur is warm
& i can walk about
in the cold

safe &
smiling

i eat more meat
& thaw the wild berries
from my freezer

as she pumps them
from her fat

where she sleeps
high up in the
hills

sending down her dream
like power
like a song


- from Dark Love, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak

O FLOURISH ALL YE GENTLE FOLK
(sing to the tune of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen")


O flourish all ye gentle folk, let nothing you dismay.
Remember that the sun returns to us on solstice day
To save us all from winter’s cold and hunger’s cruel way.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


O deepen all ye seeking truth, let nothing you impede.
Remember that the winter’s dark can nourish wisdom’s seed.
Silent changes grow within & to compassion lead.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


O celebrate ye thankful folk, let nothing you delay.
The miracle of light & dark renews us every day.
Winter, spring & summer, fall—all year the seasons play.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


Be trustful all ye gracious folk, enjoy the season’s peace.
Renewal of the earth’s sweet green for eons will not cease.
Each winter time our hearts can rest, our burdens all release.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!


Rejoice now all ye gentle folk, be patient come what may.
Remember that the sun returns each winter solstice day,
That passing through the darkest time, we find our brightest way.
O tidings of comfort & joy, comfort & joy, O tidings of comfort & joy!




version © 1990 Sandy Eastoak

WINDROAR

Wind, roar 'round our roofs;
tumble down tonite
from this mammoth sky
to make curtains flail
over Man's billion beds,
in whatever nooks from dark
you find us in.
Blow your swollen song
to our asleep ears
that we might hear:
of the start-less epic
of this murmured Earth;
of this vast dream
we are lost within;
of the fluttered smallness
of our brief flames
scattered in this All-ness.
Now, Wind,
while Mind sleeps;
speak what Mind won’t hear,
to That beneath it.


- gor yaswen

cortinarius

the first one i found
was solitary among the oaks
in a grove riotous
with death caps

it hunkered softly
clearing the fallen
points of brown leaves
just enough to fully
flare its impossibly
pink & luscious
round

its center
slightly ochre
& rising softer than
a furtive breath

how dazed i was
kneeling in the damp
forest litter to ingest
its image in my digital
predator

a few days passed
& i found another
as miraculous as
the first

then another
& another
each solitary &
skimming the fallen
leaves a gentle disbelief
of pink within
the damp shelter
of credulous brown

how excited
when i snapped two
growing together in the grass
their over-folded
lilac rounds feathered
with blades of green

then venturing
past briars & poison oak
to the secret alcove
of an old douglas fir
i found
a ring of them!

a ring of them!

the grace of lilac pink
rising one by one by one
from the mycelium circled
dark world below


within my arch of ribs
i felt a caress across my heart
a sweet kindness from invisible
power

that thinks up such
fragile, transient beauty
blossoming from miles

of one-cell-wide filaments
lasting & strong &
netting the soil in place

even as i stand
in the fir’s shade
or kneel to abscond
with images

i am rocked
in something gossamer
& warm & light

the lilac pink
of cortinarius
is singing

thank you

thank you


*I don’t know if any or all of these pink mushrooms were Cortinarius, but the descriptions are true.

from Praise Poems, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

INNOCENT


I've been an atom deep inside an oak
for near a century now. But this wind
is threatening, the severing kind, and. . .
crack! The trunk is split; I'm fee to look
at lightning, red clouds, summer's thrash at dusk.

At peace, I bask in weather, gazing up
even when rain begins to fall. "Relax,"
I tell my gnat-electrons, "take your loops
as slow as moonrise - we can sail the air
now that our tree is halved, and glide to Rome
or Santa Fe or Mars; a star's not far -

or we can stay and call this gnarled stump home."

An oak's a cell of beauty; who could have known
its sad limits? I love our freedom so.


from Logician of the Wind, © 2012 Lee Slonimsky

Lee will be reading Saturday, January 26, 7 pm at Sebastopol Gallery.

mushrooms


brown

round flesh
erupting
from dark damp soil
raising gilled secrets
& portents of old doom
into the ground level mist
& then the white ones in a ring
the orange shimmering folded ones
& the spotted red giant by the fence

this fanfare of color & shape declares
the hidden miracle we forget
even while it bestows all year
life to soil & those who need
to eat, to breathe, to love
their mycelium
is the old god
creating
all that
lives



from Praise Poems, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak



An etheree is a 10-line poem whose first line is one syllable, second line 2 syllables, & so on to the 10-syllable last line. A double etheree has a second verse that reverses the progression. Four poems in Praise Poems are double etherees.

crow


when morning brings a flood of lovely things,
the crow begins her search for happy pranks.
she marches cawing through assembled ranks
of black & glossy elders. then she wings
her way to breakfast where a rotting fish
attracts a swarm of blow flies on the beach.
then launching into rising winds to reach
a stimulating view, she soars her wish
for power of the sky. she sees below
the patterned moves of predator & prey.
she drops down to the river where she wets
her beak, then drinks. the sparkling water’s flow
invigorates her ardent love of play—
she saunters up the grass, then pirouettes.


from Corona Fauna, © 2012 Sandy Eastoak


I'll be reading other poems from Corona Fauna to open the WordTemple poetry event tomorrow (Saturday) at 7 pm, Sebastopol Center for the Arts, 282 South High.

13


we touch small miracles & fiercely pray
that bear & elk & antelope return,
that each two-legged person deeply learn
some plant or animal's perceptive way,
that inter-species friendships make us wise
& heal the twisted wounds of human love,
so grass & salmon & the hawks above
define our home & sanctify our ties.
then if we share a bed or sleep alone,
we look across the landscape of our day.
we thank the beings who have blessed our sight
& sift through errors that we might atone.
we melt our tight & angry fears away,
then cradle kindness in our arms each night.



from Corona Gaia, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

Thanks for the nice antidote, Sandy, to the contentious barking discussion. :pant:

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

13

we touch small miracles & fiercely pray
that bear & elk & antelope return,
that each two-legged person deeply learn
some plant or animal's perceptive way,
that inter-species friendships make us wise
& heal the twisted wounds of human love,
so grass & salmon & the hawks above
define our home & sanctify our ties.
then if we share a bed or sleep alone,
we look across the landscape of our day.
we thank the beings who have blessed our sight
& sift through errors that we might atone.
we melt our tight & angry fears away,
then cradle kindness in our arms each night.

from Corona Gaia, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

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Bless you, Barry.

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by Barry:

Thanks for the nice antidote, Sandy, to the contentious barking discussion. :pant:

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cow


she feeds the people her abundant light

she gathers from the pasture’s rolling grass.
her hooves impress small terraces that pass
around the hills, these bovine contours tight
on coastal dairy farms, where drifting fog
enfolds her as she slowly chews her cud.
she relishes calm slogging through the mud,
cool breezes & the frisky farmer’s dog.
on land so nearly wild, what joy to browse
& give her happiness to milking pail!
some other freedom carries scant appeal.
she loves the heat of her companion cows,
their trick of flicking flies while nose to tail-
contentment shared engenders common weal.


from Corona Fauna, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

millipede

as they evolve our larger lives are changed—
small beings hidden in the dark & damp.
a millipede is not a favored champ,
her little legs in double pairs arranged
along her shiny segments. how she moves
enchants—slow ripples slide her through the leaves.
by undulating headfirst she achieves
a tunnel to her food. she then improves
its strength by engineering bits of dirt.
she eats debris, gives nutrients to soil.
on every segment tiny holes draw breath.
no human’s ever seen if she’s a flirt,
but underground she & her lover coil—
they intertwine our loving with our death.



from Corona Rhea © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

Grandfather Answers
Salamander Camp, August 2008
for Olivia Corson



I ask, “What is held when we hold on too tightly?”
Say something more, Grandfather, than just,
The trees hold nothing,
giving it all to the sky.

Say instead,
The varieties of greens and shadows
of these leaves, these descending, overlapping branches
are the texture of your interior.
When they cut you open they will not find
an anatomy of gray and red. You will not be blood
and sludge. Instead, they will find green needles,
brown twigs, and a single blue stone resting in
moss in the center of your chest, there -
just beneath that place where you
now lay your palm as you approach me and
ask me this question.

Grandfather pauses, regarding me with that silent gaze
he has held now for over eighty years.
If he could speak, he would say,
Mysteries are as common as crows.



-​Bob Engel

The mushroom pictured is quite likely "Lepista nuda" but now called "Clitocibe nuda" , commonly known as the 'Wood Blewit" . It's one of a number of mushrooms that have a subtle and pleasant and distinctive smell. Interestingly some can't detect the smell at all and descriptions vary. Common in Northern CA and can occur both in Fall and Spring.
Read more about it here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clitocybe_nuda —
Ron

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

cortinarius

the first one i found
was solitary among the oaks
in a grove riotous
with death caps

it hunkered softly
clearing the fallen
points of brown leaves
just enough to fully
flare its impossibly
pink & luscious
round

its center
slightly ochre
& rising softer than
a furtive breath

how dazed i was
kneeling in the damp
forest litter to ingest
its image in my digital
predator

a few days passed
& i found another
as miraculous as
the first

then another
& another
each solitary &
skimming the fallen
leaves a gentle disbelief
of pink within
the damp shelter
of credulous brown

how excited
when i snapped two
growing together in the grass
their over-folded
lilac rounds feathered
with blades of green

then venturing
past briars & poison oak
to the secret alcove
of an old douglas fir
i found
a ring of them!

a ring of them!

the grace of lilac pink
rising one by one by one
from the mycelium circled
dark world below


within my arch of ribs
i felt a caress across my heart
a sweet kindness from invisible
power

that thinks up such
fragile, transient beauty
blossoming from miles

of one-cell-wide filaments
lasting & strong &
netting the soil in place

even as i stand
in the fir’s shade
or kneel to abscond
with images

i am rocked
in something gossamer
& warm & light

the lilac pink
of cortinarius
is singing

thank you

thank you

*I don’t know if any or all of these pink mushrooms were Cortinarius, but the descriptions are true.

from Praise Poems, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

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the willows


the willows bend along the creek.
leaves brightly flicker in the air.
their quiet is the love we seek.

the breezes through their branches speak
the gentle longing of a prayer.
the willows bend along the creek.

some rubbing branches softly squeak
within a stillness quite aware—
their quiet is the love we seek.

some trunks are furrowed, some are sleek—
three salix species thrive & share.
the willows bend along the creek.

among their roots dark waters leak
& eddy where their branches flare.
their quiet is the love we seek.

against their bark i rest my cheek—
how strongly now i feel them care.
the willows bend along the creek,
their quiet is the love we seek.


from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

breakfast


i sit down to eat
in the green & golden
mid morning

noise arises from
somewhere down the street
dull & continuous compressor

tightening my stomach
even as the blessing of food
descends

i wonder
what breakfast was like
when there was no engine noise
within 500 years

did our food laugh
over our tongues
reveal stories to
our inner eye

strawberries singing
in our mouths
the happiness of sun
come warm again

acorn mush teaching
how to sink roots
deep & solid
& become big

pine nuts telling
green breezy tales of
beetles making small tracks
over resinous bark

deer meat whispering
fleetness & grace
unwavering watchfulness
the giving & taking woods

cells of our bodies
struggle to hear
as we chew out of rhythm

all food is eloquent
the silence of nourishment
begs to speak



from Praise Poems​, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

A question for Sandoak; in reading about the practices of local Pomo in years past, when they did controled burns to tke out underbrush and stimulate growth of certain plants the Pome said that it made the 'potatoes' bigger. Are those potatoes what we refer to as 'truffles'?

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by sandoak:

breakfast


i sit down to eat
in the green & golden
mid morning

noise arises from
somewhere down the street
dull & continuous compressor

tightening my stomach
even as the blessing of food
descends

i wonder
what breakfast was like
when there was no engine noise
within 500 years

did our food laugh
over our tongues
reveal stories to
our inner eye

strawberries singing
in our mouths
the happiness of sun
come warm again

acorn mush teaching
how to sink roots
deep & solid
& become big

pine nuts telling
green breezy tales of
beetles making small tracks
over resinous bark

deer meat whispering
fleetness & grace
unwavering watchfulness
the giving & taking woods

cells of our bodies
struggle to hear
as we chew out of rhythm

all food is eloquent
the silence of nourishment
begs to speak



from Praise Poems​, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

---

Dorothy, I'm not sure what those "potatoes" were. My best guess would be soaproot. The Pomo (and other tribes) baked soaproot and managed gathering areas by burning. The burning kept other plants from encroaching and could have made the soaproot bigger by preventing competition for nutrients.

If I learn something more definitive, I'll let you know.

Sandy

Quote:

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Posted in reply to the post by Dorothy Friberg:

A question for Sandoak; in reading about the practices of local Pomo in years past, when they did controled burns to tke out underbrush and stimulate growth of certain plants the Pome said that it made the 'potatoes' bigger. Are those potatoes what we refer to as 'truffles'?

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rite of spring


willows dance beside the slowly moving creek.
they swoop & swivel in rhythm with the wind.
his tango is fierce above the water’s meek

& languid waltz steps that linger round the bend
of root & shore. branches costumed bright in bud
plié winsomely, flirtatiously pretend

to forget the wild breakdance of winter’s flood.
wantonly the catkins sway in swift embrace
of sudden gusts, scatter fluff across fresh mud.

the flamenco god of change commands the pace—
the willows fulfill his lead with stunning grace.


from Rhymes with Pillow, © 2013 Sandy Eastoak

OG SKOGEN

Every forest has
a central tree,
one the whole forest
leans on.

You may not
be able to find it.
It lives deep
in the heart.

It may even have
fallen, years
ago, but its memory
is that strong.


Frederick Smock

(Og Skogen means "the forest" or "the pines" in Norwegian.)
reprinted with author's permission from About Place Journal

bear


across the night a feral chorus rings.
the bear inclines her head to catch the tune.
she deeply breathes the shimmer of the moon
& savors every nuance breezes bring.
her heavy body moves with graceful speed
among the trees & up the silvered hill.
she dines on fragrant remnants of a kill
she made three days ago to feed her need.
when satisfied she lumbers down the slope
to taste the water sliding over stones.
in moonlight she observes the minnows dart
& smiles at turtle’s furtive periscope.
she lingers. frogs resume their baritones,
as startled killdeer cries his plaintive part.


- from Corona Fauna, © 2011 Sandy Eastoak

solace


i walk among the willows when i’m sad.

https://www.waccobb.net/forums/wacco...4_10-10-30.png

i speak to them as to a trusted friend.
i hold their furrowed bark between my hands,
i stroke their curve of trunk & scan their limbs.
against the sky they etch their soothing lines,
their shapes & shadows quell my bitter thoughts.
their counsel pleases me. i hope i can
reflect it well within the human realm.
the view that willows see, extending past
the dell, beyond the wooded hill, is not
ideal. they know our foibles & our strife.
they sense the danger fabricated by
our fear, our ignorance, our stinking pride.
they feel the loss of species, melting ice,
the poisoned soil, polluted streams & seas,
& yet they welcome any one of us.
both flexible & tough, they heal our wounds
with beauty, silence & a steadfast grace.
like wendell berry they consider all
the facts & yet are joyous, giving smart
compassion as they stand & root & stretch.
i thank them with an offering of corn
& sing them primal syllables as love.



from Rhymes with Pillow, © ​2013 Sandy Eastoak

lush


in the low damp grove where old willows grow,
briars race with grasses along the ground.
a seasonal creek, with indolent flow,
defines the edges, meanders around
the furrowed roots & trunks. mosses abound
in shadowed nooks. a towhee picks at seeds
she savors as they fall from pregnant weeds.

a deer steps quietly within the glade,
her brown moves hidden in flickering light.
alert, but sweetly at ease in the shade,
she reads all the smells of gathering night.
clouds in the west for a moment flash bright,
plants & animals—all pause & attend.
then darkness comes softly, a gentle friend.




from Rhymes with Pillow, ​© 2013 Sandy Eastoak