soul, as incorruptable as stone

800px-Big_Sur_Coast_California

there are transitional moments, spaces filled with
wildfire and earthquake and avalanche, yet wilderness
speaks more of the sun pouring his heart out in dapples
and of the paced stew of the ever-changing seasons,
the promise of rough footpaths alongside the lives of trees
and lonely lakes that mirror endless sky-play and always
those smart birds hitching free rides on thermal columns

how cherish-able is the insouciance of the wild, how prized
for its medicinal value, for its stringy-barked eucalyptus
and curly moss, the breathe of its purity in the tossing up
and carving out of shapely mountains and palisades and
high-principled stone obelisks rising from frothing seas
and from the evergreen stillness of the land, the wilderness ~

so reverent in its prayers, its songs of praise, they soar
tower-like, a marvel of primordial cathedrals spinning
past the cruciferous hallmark of hawk against the wide
and cloud-bedecked sky; ageless, these untamed places are
rock-solid sanity and tree anchored, feeding those who sit
one with them, who own the wilderness essence from the heart’s
unbroken core, finding their own soul as incorruptible as stone

Join us on The Bardo Group blog for Wilderness Week, hosted by Priscilla Galasso (scillagrace). Feel free to link in your own related work there using Mister Linky or by placing a link to your work in the comments section.

© 2014, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; the photograph of Big Sur is in the public domain

the smell of wood, the scorch of fire …

stumpsthis rough-barked sequoia stump, sitting in majesty
in its coastal home, victim of wildfire, burned down
to its gnarly roots, its nicks, holes and char, eons
of scars, life seemingly cut off, goddess snake alive
inside the concentric circles, the smell of wood and
scorch of fire, at the verge of our infinity, in its truth ~

pristine

rugged

pulsing

haunted by the geometry of limbs, the calculus of green,
the algebraic eloquence of a world within a world  ~

So present.

So essential.

So primal.

it sings to itself in the marrow of our bones

- Jamie Dedes

Victoria Slotto’s Writers’ Fourth Wednesday inspiration is the “Wilderness,” in preparation for Wilderness Week starting on Sunday, August 31. The wilderness around here is rich in Sequoia. Hence this poem. Please join us at The Bardo Group blog today and link in your own work. Details are HERE.

© 2014, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved
Photo credit ~Bay Nature.org: “The Bay Nature Institute, based in Berkeley, California, is dedicated to educating the people of the San Francisco Bay Area about, and celebrating the beauty of, the surrounding natural world. We do so with the aim of inspiring residents to explore and preserve the diverse and unique natural heritage of the region, and of nurturing productive relationships among the many organizations and individuals working towards these same goals.” Read more HERE.

Done . . . and not done yet . . .

Jamie Dedes:

A poem of mine and a sweet touching video from Taiwan on The Bardo Group blog …

You will have to link through to the original post to view the video. 

Originally posted on THE BARDO GROUP:

photo-37-1I watched it all over my friend’s dear shoulder,
that time of living while dying and celebrating ~
like a garden snake ~ the shedding of the skin,
the detritus of material man with its hungers and
wild, woody creative soul, sketching ruby-jeweled
memories in sand to be blown like a Tibetan mandala
across Timelessness . . .

while he,

lone monk,

gripped

by systems on systems of hospital wiring, billing,
approvals, and laws around funerals and burials,
estates, plans, and proposals for headstones and
the where, when, and how of a memorial service,
the left-overs of his life to be sorted, stashed, stored
or sent to the right people in the right places.

Done!

… as though there had been nothing. No one.

- Jamie Dedes

♥♥♥♥

NOT DONE YET

Dedicated to everyone who is living with dying. That would be all of us.

A Taiwanese advertisement based on a true story.

View original 210 more words

on their shoulders …

Madonna of the Plains

out of the womb of Time they slide
peasants and kings, artisans and queens
murders, warriors, healers, peacemakers
the grandmothers and grandfathers
on whose shoulders we stand

they are with us, their spirits sensed
though unseen
their hearts are in our mouths
as they guard and guide

feet rooted in the mud of Earth
we drink the wine, eat the roots
and sing the songs we inherited
their sayings are our sayings
their voices are our voices
carried on breezes
like the music of cathedral bells
they chime and summon
they sum what came before

from their gnosis
whispered in the ear of silence
we learn: we are nameless but not lost
we too shall echo
shall be the shoulders
shall be the grandmothers and grandfathers
shall be the Hope and the Light
along the path . . .
. . . . beckoning

© 2012, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved