the rain forest

Here among straight backs,

green shirts and flirting sparks

of light, of feather,

among songs of ancients

the wind, lonely as a stone

tells me something.

It touches the old swing

by the river, begins to push

just enough to capture the eye

and surely there are ghosts

in private conversations

sipping coffee in the earliest sun.

I lost a love here my heart says.

A book of poems, yet unfinished,

traces the path

around and between the giants,

over the moss,

the stone beach.

You tell me, why I was lonely.

And I indeed

was never perfect.

You know where we flew to.

Then I, so tired,

easily frightened in those days,

felt the anchor tear away

from everything.

Touch me, my skin cried.

You were off fighting wars

of your own,

drowning slowly.

I'll tell you a secret, someone

told me the things you were saying

and that

opened the doors

of my going away.

for the past we let go of

Sparklehorse - Tribute to Mark Linkous

Read a new poem titled "Sparklehorse",
no it's not about a horse at all. Well mostly not.
It's about Mark Linkous of the band Sparklehorse
who took his life after a long battle with depression.
I watched two videos of him performing and was
impressed by the simple, poetic and dark music.
You can read the poem at Flood Water Photography:

http://www.floodwaterphotography.blogspot.com/

Encourage and love those near to you, even those a far way off.

Anonymous

Broken Art

Broken Art
by T.L. Stokes



Here in the grass breast of my mother will I lay my head,
sorrowing for seed and stillness. Here among the wet
breath will I whisper an old thought and dream while she
holds me again. Far from the broken thighs, oh heavy
longing. Our children lost in the rubble. Far
from stones and paintings turned to another form
of art and grave, I will leave my family, they sink
from my heart. I will be pretty on what I think stable.
In dreaming I fly, in sleep I awaken. Here, far
from islands and oceans. Here in the grass breast
of my mother, will I lay my head.




for Chile

New poem titled "The Hill" at Flood Water Photography - www.floodwaterphotography.blogspot.com.

Simplicity

http://www.floodwaterphotography.blogspot.com

See the new poem "Simplicity" at Flood Water Photography.

The Alpaca Farm

There is a mouse in the house. Louise screamed and bolted herself in her room. Molly the white cat cried to come in. We let Kitten have free roam of the house at night. You could hear her running and leaping, sliding across the old wood floor. It's been two nights now. Kitten makes acrobatic sounds in the middle of the night, the mouse must be fast.

This morning the sky was filled with light. Even now it butters the fields. The alpacas blink and watch me open the nesting box door, two eggs lie in the straw. I make oatmeal to thank the hens.

Here are a few photos from this morning. Enjoy!

Anonymous

in celebration of birth

Today, fifty-some years ago, twenty four how I feel, millions the age of my spirit, I was pushing my elbow into my mother, trying to make a little more space, and sighed, the sigh an unborn baby does without air, kind of like a hiccup into water, all silent, soft movements, and I thought the thoughts of unthinking, before words came one by one to crowd a new fresh brain, and I readied to flow downstream into my new life. Into my mother's arms, my father's embrace, into the air, the loudness. Into the land of corners and hard surfaces. And I would always seek oceans and rivers, I would return over and over to songs of water for my hungry ears.

Here I am on the alpaca farm, driving daily along Patterson Creek, to the Snoqualmie and Raging Rivers at Fall City, up the long hill to the Falls, through Snoqualmie and into North Bend. All these rivers. They are my sisters. My mother. I watch the light from the broad sky bend down, it shimmers on wet pavement, streaks across the water. Warms my face.

Here's to life. Thank you for being here with me.

for my daughters Heather & Kelsey

T.L. Stokes