Primordial Garden

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Subtitle:
Drum Chant Of A Shaman’s Life’s Work

“Deep Verge”

I have a SACRED GARDEN,
small space by a neatly made house in a clearing,
in verge, a rich, dense, fragrant, tall-tree forest’s
brown deep shadowed verge,

.. Tall woods but no naked edge to a clearing,
woody creeper, roses, grape to top,
forming, framing, paths thru archways in.

.. Behind my house, so fertile, this small clearing,
this wild meeting built, made sacred,
by my hands in seven years.

“New Land”

.. Small clearing where Humans dwell on rather new land where,
there was a year,
.. A not-so-ancient year our broad Ice World that was here,
one year its springtime melt flood draining off shows
glacier is !!inland of ocean now!!,

.. And along that rocky shore abruptly,
This new world of meandering melt water roads,
All these watercourse ways, lichen-fungi scents
of naked firm dirt called new biome.

.. Just 4 springs later then:
Nearby cold water human boat people
followed red birds nesting upriver.

“Spontaneous Life”

!! South Coastal Slope, New England !!
.. There are riverside niches here, some times of year,
so like an Appalachian cove.

.. Small rivers twist in glacial outflow bottoms,
as if rocky East Texas bayous,
Murky full of all the scums and seeds
of a wet temperate forest’s life,

“Mass Destruction”

.. Our camp in a clearing half way up a channel’s
dawn-facing bank;

.. Old soldier at last camped in neat lumber-built tent,
In dawns sit, dance, poetize, deep smoke healing, these dawns.
.. And bearing witness to all this
shifting into monstrous warming now.

“Murder In The Streets”

.. And my people’s empire I rebelled against
collapses in a plague,
while its royal soldiers rage with murder in the streets.

(- Here is the end of this blog post poem.-)