The Poet's Room

Leaves, Green Hand -- The Entwining Spiral of Life *       Tree **  Eats brilliant sunrays Uplifts feathered green arms Bridges blue sky, brown earth.       Not only do I talk to trees, I touch trees. Yet who touches whom? Where does the impetuous or desire come to lay my hand on a tree, feel the bark, leaves, branches, and twigs. To commune with nature through tactile contact.  The book, The Heart Beat of Trees,   details research on the benefits we humans receive from being in the presence of trees. The author a German forester took a television personality out into the woods to measure the physiological impact on her body. First though he measured  her blood pressure and pulse rate while walking in a city. Not surprisingly her blood pressure and pulse rate dropped in the forest. Japanese researchers tested subjects, no not white mice,  real humans, some subjects they sent to visit a forest and some subjects they sent to walk in the city. They found that cancer killing cells and anti

Brown Trout on Grass!                      Twas  the beginning of June on a late Tuesday afternoon. On a trout  stream that shall  forever remain anonymous for reasons that will become obvious.  Early on this Trout Fisherman experienced some technical difficulties. The setting beautiful, a shady spot with overhanging trees, a deep pool of cold water upstream, fast water rippling over rocks. A willow tree grew out of the middle of the rippling water on a bit of raised rock and soil a bit of an island. The willow spread limbs over most of the streaming water then another pool where the water gathered before flowing on.  The lower pool had depth and logs, a place where trout could  lay in wait, let the cold water bring them food. In fisherman terminology a "Good H ole." A place sure to hold trout.     Innocent Looking Willow, Don't Be Fooled!   Now what the Trout Fisherman said after casting many times in vain to the Willow;  "Why, oh why? Pray tell thee to me, why dost

  Wild Geranium At Base of Dead Tree      Now near the end of spring, I've been remiss in writing about the dead awakening into new life. The last six days I've been hunting the Wild Turkey on a friend's woodlands. I spent over twenty springs hunting wild turkeys in the Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri. Way before that Missouri hunt started, back when there were only isolated populations of wild turkeys remaining in America I recall vividly my first sighting of a wild gobbler. Lord of the Woods Strutting His Stuff!       Just a boy of thirteen on the edge of Brown County State Park in southern Indiana. Deer season, gun in hand I'd climbed a steep ridge in the dark to await the dawn. I'd hardly slept the night before as visions of huge bucks, twelve point racks or more leapt passed me as I raised the gun. The dawn had come slowly illuminating the large oak trees around me. A large fox squirrel climbed up to a low limb then stretched out. With fat lolling over e

          (To hear this blog/vlog read and the music associated with hit click on "This Guitar" .)       Spiritual practice in many circles is frequently referred to as recovery! The  gift of recovery  normally starts after immense crisis and suffering.  In the practice of Recovery a person learns how to tune their spirit by using principles and techniques learned from more advanced practitioners. Illusion of perfection or the need to strive for perfection exists as a  great stumbling block. Acceptance of imperfection and the need for help opens the door to humility which fosters growth. The following poem illustrates that helpful principle.         This Guitar* I say to the Friend; This guitar In my bedroom Sits in the stand All day long Doing nothing;  Doesn't it Know It was made To make music? Tony, the Friend Exclaims This guitar is the form: A body, A sounding board, A neck with frets, Strings, tuners, braces, Created To make beautiful  Music, but The instrument  Rem

St. Mary's Cemetery Richland Center, WI           A friend in distress called this morning.  Suicide had taken a family friend.  Suicide rates are up with the economic turmoil created by the Pandemic.  Last fall another friend lost a brother to suicide. Evidently his brother's failing business drove him over the edge. As someone who has experienced his own dark night of the soul I understand the pain and suffering that could lead to such a bleak conclusion. I feel lucky for I found help and learned to turn those feelings of shame, worthlessness and desperation over to The Power That Flows Through All Things. God is one of the  names frequently used for that power! Losses pummel us, soften us, open the door to the heart that can break from the sorrows of life yet heal in loving through those sorrows. Sorrow opens the door to greater compassion for others struggling.... when we recall what our desperation felt like. (To view the video with music and hear this blog read click on t