POETRY

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name

-William Shakespeare (from A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

PLACE

 

Brook whispers

wings above

leaves below

join without command.

 

Pebbles cleansed and with purpose

shine beneath water glistening

bathed by sunlight

filtered by arrayed branches. 

 

Sentinel flowers speak

restoring my marrow

planting thoughts

swaying my soul.

 

Seasons pass 

leaves fall

flocks waive 

a spirit remains.

 

Peaceful here

prayer softly spoken seeks oneness

I will be still

please let me stay.

BEE AND CALF

 

Today, on my way in this busy world, I stopped to hear the bawl of the calf whose mother grazes in springtime speak to my inner self as a sound of almost silence, especially when the noise of man is compared, and the bawling of the calf and the buzz of the bee in a wild flower and sage gift to me a thankful heart not so easily arising in my other world; but I must not dally too long here, for I have people to see, commissions to make and places to go, but I heard the bee and the calf today, and they have refreshed my spirit.

Larry Jorgenson

INNOCENCE

 

In a child’s mind

I hope to be again

with shrouds of stars

sun bright days 

loving faces

grace and beauty

fascination with all seen 

the moment conquering that 

which isn’t. 

Larry Jorgenson

THE POND

 

Mollusks, crustaceans, insect larva abandoning

polluted, greenish rot of once good still receives from the

tree the small, showy, bobbing Bufflehead

dressed mostly white, little black, not intruding

as he squeals and growls to his mate while going about

creation, its burned-out voice beseeching, asking, gasping-

perhaps for not long.  

A THOUGHT

I surmise we should leave this goal on the table of hope and trust it will find its way to the shining light of acceptance now concealed by the arbitrary darkness of personal bias.

 

-Larry Jorgenson, Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Photos taken by me from my home cross the street from the National Elk Refuge where the creek passes and bald eagles often search for food. 

 

-Larry Jorgenson, Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Tatanka

Majestic, stately, not ignoble

Tatanka lies waiting

legs extended

eye open skyward

side stiff, not rising.

 

Wolves hold forth

eagles feast, coyotes sneak.

Dignity preserved

homage given 

Circle complete. Sun sets in honor.

Man’s cruel aim

supplants bestial hunger

entrails of hope reduce to fruits of greed

disquiet selfishness reins 

A child weeps.

 

My heart is pierced, my spirit slain

I am diminished, dishonor and shame befall me

hope fades beyond tomorrow

I wail. 

Sun sets without peace. 

Larry Jorgenson

Prairie Peace

Sky touches the prairie level with my eye

that I am permitted to see so far I am grateful.

I am complete.

 

Prairie indulges its own

loneliness seems far away

the trail narrowing and straight

invites me with assurance of favor.  

 

Wind lifts the spirit

calls to the strong

consoles the weak.

And hawk is free. 

 

A marsh follows the rain

dew drops cling to the wild rose

and glisten in the rays of fading day.

My soul is calmed.

Meadowlark serenades, few sounds are many 

winds still out of respect

the sun falls from the table of my place 

lullaby ends. Silence embraces the dark.

Larry Jorgenson

OUTSKIRTS PRESS

Publisher of Not Water Over The Dam

Book Description

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