Simplifying

Well. Obviously my grand plan to write and post one poem a day for the duration of our AT thru-hike isn’t working out so well. It turns out that just managing all the pieces, mental and physical, of the hike itself is quite enough to occupy my time. I’ve written plenty of poems out here, and plenty I’m happy with. But I’ve decided I don’t need the added pressure right now of that kind of daily practice.

I’d also like to simplify my blogging life, so I’m consolidating my writing into one place. My poems are part of my life, so from now on instead of having their own home here, they’ll appear on my personal blog along with everything else.

So, it’s goodbye to All at the Top. From now on, you can find me at theproudland.wordpress.com.

See you there 🙂

#5

what else would
the feet of civilization
do but ache
out in the wild?
what else would baby
skin do but chafe
under an adult load?
this is not what we grew up for,
not our element, and we persist
in going, not knowing if we’ll
be rewarded or punished.

#4

This particular endeavor
I’m lucky to have chosen
and so the waiting to see
what comes to me is bearable
but life’s all the same
a game of handling it
whatever it is.

#3

I’ve been strategizing
for three days now
about the shower
in Neel’s Gap.
I’ll be allotted minutes
and need best to spend
them (wash as many clothes
as possible, and my hair).
But there is certainly freedom
in not caring (as hard as you can)

#2

the double irritation
of rain: why should it bother
you to feel a flow
down your neck,
sleep on a floating raft?
why should life
in abundance be so hard
to bear?

#1

we’re camped in a slice
of our old kind of forest
an island of pine
and rhododendron
gazing skyward
we live here now

three sisters // south sister

like the letter w
plus another pair
of slopes steeped
in scree, shifting down
reliably, unreliably.
And dab in deep
shadows of every color,
the snow banks
and massive inexorable
glaciers. For a halo
there can be sunrise
or ring of cloud, cold
bright moon or hard
scattered stars.
It’s for you to decide
what name to call
it by, or presume
to give your own.

on the rogue river trail, june 2013

the gift of walking is
the time to perfect it.
and there is a lot to ask
from walking. precisely
placed heel, sure hip,
the knowing of how to slip
into surrender,
over and over committing
to a new horizon, to continue.
as you go you can chant
to the gods of rocks
and roots and rain for mercy,
mala after mala until
the prayers in your head
are all used up.
and you will take whatever
comes from it, even smile.

 

 

paring knife

there must be an end to this,
and this and this.
is it wrong to go thru life
with a paring knife, not this
not this, with good intentions?
are we meant to add
or subtract, or stand in the middle
with aching shoulders burning
to hold the weight of balance?
there will be an end to this,
never without fear,
and this and this.

fervent

May our bones lay
together quiet & gleaming
on the ocean floor
for ages, passed over
by centuries and ships
and waves, ignored.

And when I no longer
have my body,
in the early morning
may I still feel
the sides pressing in,
the tide in of lungs
and tide out of ribs.

 

collecting coins outside notre dame

I have so much hurting
in my chest
and joy too

I saw a ballet about you
in Strasbourg
but I wasn’t allowed
to climb up on stage
or say anything

as a street performer
your biggest competition
is the cathedral itself

 

a poem a day on the AT & no more photos

Hello, this is just to say—

My husband and I are thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail this year, beginning April 6th. I’ve committed to a practice of writing a poem a day for the length of our thru-hike (though I’ve started that practice now and hope to keep it up all year). Narrative accounts of trail life will appear on my personal blog, the proud land. The poems I find along the way will be right here.

Also, I’ve decided to dispense with the photos that have been accompanying my poems here. I don’t enjoy the process of finding the right one and adding it to the post, and I’ve asked myself what they really add. I don’t think they contribute too much. The blog will be cleaner without them so the poems can better speak for themselves. Just in case you wonder : )

sister come lie down

Photo Credit: Sunova Surfboards via Compfight cc

your eyes are red
sister, come lie down.
thin out the shell
you live in.

it’s the same thing
you tell them: what are
you pushing for?
who has gone there & come back
with a promise for you?

tell me something instead.
tell me what you have felt
with your own skin,
if it’s the same reaching out
and being reached
that is in me, the same space
of air spread out like the sea.

 

 

creation myth

we did not give rise to it,
and water you cannot drink
set the pattern of your blood,
ancient air pours
into your lungs.

we are possible only
because what is in
the mountains comes
down, blue Nile to white,
ignores what is written.

this is what it means
to be born in sin:

you owe and owe
and smile in awe
and there is nothing
and nowhere outside of it.

 

 

some loss

in the upper atmosphere of your skin
atoms mix and make
thunderstorms, form thunderheads,
and churn there all your life,
shredding and precipitating
without your leave or notice.
sometimes you feel tired
and you don’t know why.
sometimes you plunge
through the sweet cider air
on a bicycle, knife into the water
from a tall rock.
there are forces at work:
currents and gullies,
assaults and overtures,
all the paths you have
walked down, and you cannot
refuse them once they’re carved.
sometimes you are bitterly disappointed
and there is rain or worms
or a lost place you try to get back to.
only hear the music and go on,
the space within you singing
that it’s wild, and with nature
there is always some loss.