Enigmatic Bind                                                                           

Listen in English
Listen in Korean (read by Jin Ting)

The local lore is unconfirmed
so I am left to ponder your past,
rusted metal and torn tread imply a prior life
humming in the field from dawn to dusk.
I would ask if you miss your heyday
but the inquiry seems insensitive,
it is possible you are content to sit in symbiosis with cedars. 

Do you know who is the supporter and who is supported?
If you believe in fate – which I suspect you must –
you have taken time to consider my questions.
The raccoon would not have visited in your previous state,
she trusts now, then scrambles over the nearby fence.
When she returns – which she will – you will still be here
rooted in soil and secrets. 

Shinrin-yoku (Forest Bathing) 

Listen in English

linger in this micro wilderness
where dark-eyed juncos forage,
listen to their music harmonize
with calls of kids at play,
inhale sweet incense of fir and cherry laurel
wafting through the chill,
sip unsullied forest air
flavored by today,
caress moss-swaddled stones
whose stories are as old as earth,
be,
the park grows with you,
nurturing mother nature
shows you her way.

Fallen 

Listen in English
Listen in Korean (read by Jin Ting)

Envy not
older brothers’ front-row seat
to the song sparrow’s concert.
From their lofty view
they strain to glimpse
purple starflowers hugging
your broken torso,
sienna ants sheltering
in pocked heartwood
void of viscous sap,
lacy bracken fern,
Oregon grape, wild cherry
paying their respects.
Exult in
your shadowed resting place
lush with epigeal life
as brothers stand vigil.

Great White Pine

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Somali (Sound Cloud; read by Amal Sheylila)

You will never know everything
But you may remember this
If you empathize with your senses and appreciate their wisdom
Gaze downward without prejudice and deep slow breathes
Observe what’s obvious with fresh eyes.
Let that image play
At least once a day
Because the next visit
I promise it will be different
Inhale
Exhale
His name was Patrick R Duff
He was an arborist misstep
A reminder of our fragile mortality from a heartbreaking accident
He was their son
He was our neighbor
And up until the end
He was his wife’s best friend

Remind Me Again 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Somali (Sound Cloud; read by Amal Sheylila)

The ball flies
As the crowd goes silent
And sound of steel dragging against manicured dirt
Grinds opposite the pace of the terrified cleats
Nature is unforgiving and unconvinced of the umpire’s authority
So it reminds those in attendance of its unwavering force and time’s irrelevance
The bat swings
While absence of clocks seduces patience
Then flirts with discipline
The impact sings
Through the specter’s gaze and the players’ opportunity
While we all wait
At the ole, ball, game.

Willows Woes 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Somali (Sound Cloud, read by Amal Sheylila)

With the weight of the world
Leaning on its limp shoulders
Gravity’s sympathy remains idle towards the willow
As it slopes with a pessimist lean
Waning and weeping uncontrollably
Bent in its sway
The willow’s shady decay
Plays gracefully among bent branches and broken leaves
Draped over beaten grass
Soaked in the morning’s tears

When We are at the Edge of Evening

Boeing Creek Park 17229 3rd Avenue NW Shoreline, WA 98177

Listen in English (SoundCloud)

How quietly the night arrives in the pine forest
when the sky is still light
and the ground, without sun
is bound with half-buried roots

This last light, twilight
Could turn the darkness all the more thick and unknown
Turn the leaves into lace patterns
Turn the heart in on itself, if you let it

And so I sit on this log, long enough,
With eyes open enough
Until I can see
the evening
of nighttime
with darkness
and moon

Bursting

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)
Listen in Tagalog (read by Hervie Autor; Sound Cloud)

At the edge of open space
the willow trees stands

Her whips loop and fall in tangled lines
yellow, gold, grey
even more flexible than luminous

Her massive limbs
severed by fifty-year snow
Dig into damp earth and arc upward
framing an accidental tree fort

Her moss sleeved branches broken
expose her amber pith
warming with the earth

The willow tree stands
bursting at the edge of open space

Tree Fall

Listen in English (SoundCloud)

As I plant each footfall on the forest path, the presence of clouds blunts the sun, and my eyes
sense how every botanical absorbs life: the waxy leaves of madrones, the starry and prickly new
growth of blackberries, and the oh, so, slow and soft moss

And absorbed in my own thoughts, I continue on until I hear myself wonder aloud,
How the man tricked the elders,
Mobilized the angered,
And fueled us all with fear?

And shocked by this seepage, my own turning inside out
I seat myself on you log, and run my palm over your cracked surface, and through the carved
void where once there was wood, and now exists absentness
shaped like a human body

And noting your cleanly severed planes, I wonder, how were you felled?
With help of axe, chainsaw or wind?
Or was it simply the beetles and their collective work?

And as you tipped, did you anticipate how you would land and spend the part of your life that
begins once you have fallen?
Once you have been given over to the undeniable fact of gravity?

And from your place on the ground, once you have fallen,
will you come to see those who landed before you?

Listening (A Sound Hard to Hear)

North City Park 19201 10th Avenue NE Shoreline, WA 98155

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Tagalog (read by Hervie Autor; Sound Cloud)

I descend the narrow path 
and touch blackberry vines, their prickers bright burgundy 
still soft and so new they are more apt to give way 
than pierce skin
I pull my shirt around me, this is after all, damp cool that finds its own way 
and huddles within the moss covered stones

I pause as the chickadee roots from grounded branch to grounded branch
Glimpse ravens dusting across blades of light
Look up at pine branches, spinning

Close my eyes and listen
to the hard sound of the interstate
Wishing in its place to hear ocean

Hamlin Park  16006 15th Ave NE Shoreline WA 98155

Nine Prose Poems

Hamlin Park, Main Ball Field [Hamlin #1]
 
Perhaps you’ve come like I have come: delivered your body here among the cedars to allay it, or to seek shades of green when you were consumed by shadow, to seek silence when your life was clamor, to remain still for the gratitude of unshorn grass while you imagine a game at this field—whether you’re player or spectator, imagine the exhilaration of getting a hit, the chorus of cheers, the thrill of running the stark white bases like beacons, and gazing upon the scoreboard that marks your victory. Imagine teammates, the common goal, imagine who’s in the bleachers to offer their arms, imagine that body holding you up, as stalwart as one of these Hamlin cedars. 
 
 Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Hamlin Park, Patrick R. Duff Memorial [Hamlin #3]
 
You will die and I’m sorry. Most any moment can be life-affirming, though—seeing the distinct way the sun streams down onto this Hamlin path, and how when a gust of wind dislodges the conifers’ needles, they descend as a mist descends before a rainstorm. You have come here, to this log bench where a man’s life ended. The limb of a healthy white pine snapped off, though the arborists said the tree presented no “particular problems.” You’re experiencing what he experienced: your eyes consuming sumptuous green and Shoreline air cool in your lungs. Despite the hand of his spouse, despite nature burgeoning around him, and their dog tugging at the leash, he passed. “His life goes on in our stories,” the plaque reads. 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)
 
Hamlin Park, Path Up [Hamlin #2]
 
I want to write the poem that will save your life, but I do not know your plight, or whether or not its words or no words that you need. I watched a red-headed woodpecker pecking the bole of an evergreen. Her aim was beneath the surface, for the insects and seeds hidden within the crevices. Woodpeckers are the poets of the forest. If you’re here in spring, did you notice the new-green color of new growth of the leaves? In these woods, in every fallen tree which may become nurse, in every living shrub, scotch-broom, ivy, fern, in every shadow that undulates about the forest floor as I stroll these trails in which I abandon direction and purpose, my sanctuary exists. I wish to celebrate my rootlessness in the breeze that shutters the branches around me and which flutters my journal’s pages (which still are tiny trees), to write my place in this world in all its frailties, and to think of you and the poem that you might need for saving. 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Hamlin Park, Upper Ball Field [Hamlin #4]
 
When it’s spring but the ball field hasn’t seen a game in weeks, you can walk onto the adjacent field and sit among the thousands of buttercups that punctuate yellow the green of unshorn grass. What would compel a person to inspect a buttercup, to see into the whorl and how the sepals cradle the petals, and depending on the angle of sunlight, how shadows are formed? You could write this poem, but you must first get down in it, at grass level, to experience the buttercup for its stem, stamens, and carpels. Have you seen a purer yellow? What’s your taste for butter? There’s uniformity in leaves of grass and petals of flower; but there’s uniqueness in each one. When’s the last time you sat among the wildflowers? There’s still so much more to learn. 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)
 
Hamlin Park, Eastside Access [Hamlin #5]
 
Don’t be afraid. You can change your life. It starts in these woods. Who have you brought? Being alone is second best to a dog companion. For, dogs will beg you to linger when you had intended to stroll on. They’ll pull you in a direction you had not sought; they might halt for a robin or squirrel; and they might alert you to the osprey that nests atop a light fixture in the upper ball field. All paths are right and all paths are wrong in their own way. There is no confusion among the trees. Notice how certain moments during your walk bring only filtered sun and some moments your body can bathe in light. Praise the body that delivered you here—it’s safe; you can make a change. It can be small. 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

North City Park                                  19201 10th Ave NE, Shoreline WA 98155

 
North City Park, Westside [North City #2]
 
I have been here before you, thinking about what I’d say, as if this were some message in a bottle. Henry David Thoreau, I, too, have great faith in a seed. Perhaps that’s what this poem is, a seedling of hope that you’ve found refuge here. Have the salmonberries ripened yet? Do you see madrona, pine, fir, sequoia trees? Close your eyes and touch one’s trunk, its bark—thick, protecting, permeable, living. Moss, lichen, fungi, and a root system we can only imagine. The world opens to us only as much as we have the ability to receive. You and I have come to these exact coördinates. I might never meet you, but I will revere you as someone else for whom this space offered respite. It’s a gift—us knowing and not knowing: one place, separate moments. 
 

Listen in English  (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Tagalog (Sound Cloud, read by Hervie Autor)

North City Park, Path Boulders [North City #1]
 
How lovely, this plot of land on which someone created a paved way, set aside boulders through which we can stroll or sit if we wish, to be alone with our thoughts or no thought. To feel anointed or empty. To be lonely but not alone, for among us are birds in nests, squirrels in dreys, the fern, ivy, holly. When we’re solemn, we can venture to the woods, feel inconsequential, as if we ourselves are no miracle at all. But hearing the sparrow’s song reminds us that each note is purposeful. Today I’ve come to the smell of pine and damp earth after rain, to the breeze on my face, and the cool boulder under my lap. Kindness begins with self. Love this moment—it’s enough. 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)
 

 
Why have you come? To marvel at the delicate daisies adorning the lush meadow before the willows? Never once have I visited the woods and wished to be elsewhere—not ocean, not desert, not city, not even at someone’s side. It’s here that I wish to be: Variegation, varietals of green, a small waterway (call it creek, stream, brook, call it any type of tributary), a thick patch of clover, the maples, aspens, birch trees. The way this space completes my body is the reason that I’ve come. When I was a child I wouldn’t step on grass because I thought I would hurt it. Then I got older and abandoned those naïve notions. Then I got even older and realized I was correct before, a child who knows more than she knows. It’s in these woods where the answers lie. 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Tagalog (Sound Cloud, read by Hervie Autor)

 
Paramount Open Space, Tractor Overgrown [PoS #2]
 
Here’s a type of mirror—what do you see? Everything is in flux, even this old tractor. Its transmission, engine, steering column are still recognizable. And the seeds that took root and the saplings that grew and the cedars that seek sunlight and nutrients, they’re all thriving, despite the metal frame, the tires, the bucket. Mirrors only function when there’s something to reflect; it’s a two-part system. Here, a tractor that no longer tracts, and nature that persists despite the metal impediments. When have you been the static tractor, intractable? When have you been nature, malleable? Some days the mirror might show you you’re the engine; some days it reflects that you’re the robin’s nest. 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Tagalog (Sound Cloud; read by Hervie Autor)

Regeneration

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)
Listen in Korean (Read by Jin Ting; Sound Cloud)

When its longest limb went wearily to ground
and from the bark and cambium
larvae bubbled up
and red-throated flickers feasted
there, a decision
the willow transforming to meadow
a coat now of moss, drinking meadow earth
and unmown grass
the approach of smallest daisies
with the odd purple-throated petal
marking daisy-time
kept by deep-rooted clocks
we could not say this willow is broken:
in the heartwood, see all that has passed
in the falling, the opening door 

What Cedars Keep 

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)
Listen in Korean (read by Jin Ting)

This cedar carries everything on its journey
to the sky – the creek that seeps silently from banks
to deep root tips, insects in crevices the nuthatch listens for,
even the metal bones of this tractor. Its trunks swell
and engulf until they share the same body.
It just appears to be still to our quick eyes.
Cedars record entirety in their rings and breakage,
cracks and peelings: the stump perched on a crumbled log,
the brief stories of all who have been near.
Tremors of your footsteps on the forest floor
are felt in every root and mapped,
vibrate up through the newest needles. Your breath
soft as a mist on its bark-skin reverberates along
this body that takes in every encounter, all
that walks, flows, flies, pauses.

Located

Listen in English (mp3)
Listen in Korean (Sound Cloud)

Birdsong scuffs the cool, rinsed air.
Wings quick through pines that know
the sky. I write the shadows on my bones,
shadows falling from trees seaming
a pale light.

I feel the roots coveting soil,
looping stones beneath sword ferns
and lustrous ivy. I am the invisible,
searching for mercy in this small,
green patch.

Within Six Trees

Listen in English (mp3)
Listen in Korean (read by Jin Ting)

Paramount Open Space 946 NE 147th Street Shoreline, WA 98155

In dappled light, the creek trickles
as small gas bubbles escape like secrets
from mudflats. I follow an unknown trail,
swallowing green and birdsong, seeking
solace from the world’s bite. Standing
within six trees, I see a sky sketched
by thin clouds, a soft blue murmur.

On the way out, I come across an uprooted tree,
a vast tangle that resembles a woolly mammoth,
a spirit animal long gone, an echo
of how we enter and pass on into shadow.

All Empires Fall

Paramount Open Space 946 NE 147th Street Shoreline, WA 98155

Listen in English (SoundCloud) 

Listen in Somali (Sound Cloud; read by Amal Sheylila)

Gaze deeply enough and you’ll find solace
For the justice of nature crawls at a glacial pace
But make no mistake, it exists
When the tractor was constructed
Shoreline was under apartheid
And its durability was unquestioned
Now it’s no longer in working order
Immersed in a swamp, impaled by timber
Barring intervention, it’ll be there forever
Despite the close proximity of a golf course;
An aspect of elitist indulgence
This still became a victim of obsolescence
So on the outskirts of Seattle
Here lies a textbook example
Of how attempts at immortality are at best a gamble
Such are the life lessons
That can be found even in Shoreline’s woodlands
All empires fall – there are no exceptions …

A Sign of Civilization

Paramount Open Space 946 NE 147th Street Shoreline, WA 98155

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Somali (Sound Cloud, read by Amal Sheylila)

A sign of civilization
Amidst this vegetation
A friendly reminder
That services can still be rendered
Even on the farthest reaches
Of Shoreline's frontier
Alas, if you look closely
You'll notice how the foliage
Seemingly threatens
To eventually consume
Even this tiny indication
This small sign of civilization
And yet, it stands its ground nonetheless

A Part of What We Protect

North City Park 19201 10th Avenue NE Shoreline, WA 98155

Listen in English (Sound Cloud) 

Listen in Somali (Sound Cloud; read by Amal Sheylila)

If there ever was
A nuclear holocaust
This is what would be lost
Shoreline’s greenery; 
Its (non-poisonous) ivy
Even the occasional fallen tree
Hence the necessity for a pacifist hero
For if strife with our neighbors continues to grow
This wilderness would be ground zero
Let the divergent trails seen here
Symbolize our options, between peace and war
And remember, an elementary school ain’t far

The Glowing

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

each morning
I awaken
make coffee
cross the road
in front of my home
for the morning paper
road on one side
ravine, stream and forest
on the other

carefully moving back
avoiding morning traffic
I shift
away from a rushing world
into the glowing

it peeks between trees
reflects from luminous throats
of hummingbirds
shimmers
against a rushing stream
dances in morning fog
rising ghostlike
from the forest floor
becomes lacy white light
washing over everything
and me

having stepped back
across the road
I realize
how easily
the glowing disappears
when I lose myself
in an accelerated world

North City Park 19201 10th Avenue NE Shoreline, WA 98155

[Dear Northcity_2]*:

 Listen in English (SoundCloud)

the echoes of time become finely etched
into the bark 
of trees
the bird’s creaking beak
the ahh 
at the heart of all sound
pardon me, won’t you take a seat 
at the center of your sun
glaring at when you call god
by a name you don’t know
on a telephone with no signal
how does your smile reach for your lips?
is it like the wisdom you speak of?
dear tree, what do you see when standing tall?
how will the wind bear the weight of your decision to move forward?
will your footsteps pave the way or follow the dirt’s call and response? 
oh, which way did your song go?
it was never my story to tell
you took your shoes with you
and left behind the dance moves

[Beloved, paramount open space_willows at edge of field]

Listen in English (SoundCloud)

what song does this remind you of
is it the way the willows and skeletons 
in this outdoor closet
unfurl their muletas, fingers, and mother tongues to beckon you
thisclose
to what? 
do you ever wonder what you are like
to know
perhaps it’s the animals that acknowledge you 
as a visitor and who know without fail
when the seasons change 
that their understanding of home must follow suit
Is it ever possible to say goodbye too soon? if it is followed by
a housewarming party
is being struck by lightning the same as being struck by wonder 
can you hear yourself breathing this song from scratch
how do you blend in with the grass

 [195th St Pedestrian Tube over I-5]

Listen in English (SoundCloud)

Listen in Vietnamese (SoundCloud)

what are you focused on? and
what are the fences for?
from trees to a concrete sea
of cars mouth breathing
at the speed of business 
or pleasure?
you speed of light
the way you look
in and out of time
from where you’re standing
the drivers look up at you to see
where to make peace with you in their memory
like the howling wind tousling your hair
and water trickling through trees
to meet you in plain sight
speak through perceived silence
loud as not a day goes by unnoticed 

[195th St pedestrian tube over I-5]*

bạn đang chú tâm điều gì? và
những hàng rào làm được gì?
từ những cây đến một biển xi măng
đầy xe cộ thở ra bằng miệng
ở vận tốc của kinh doanh
hay giải trí?
bạn nhanh nhẹn bằng ánh sáng
trong lối bạn nhìn
ở trong và ngoài thời gian
từ chỗ bạn đang đứng
những người lái xe ngước nhìn bạn để ngộ ra
lối giải thoát trong trí nhớ của họ
như tiếng gió hú rối xù tóc bạn
và nước chảy trong cây
để gặp bạn một cách tự nhiên
trao đổi qua nhận thức của yên lặng
to như cảm nhận một ngày đã qua


Hop Nguyen 
* = poems are not titled but indicate location and source of inspiration

Listen in English (Sound Cloud)

Listen in Vietnamese (Sound Cloud)

feet settling for the ground
like no choice like dust piling up like 
falling in 
love or
at second glance
the birds sound like they really know how to fly
is that where you get your curiosity from?
the silence reaches you easily like night does
always in broad daylight
if only this were as easy
as
taking nothing
for granted
and leaving
everything behind
where do you look to know
your (amongst) future (trees)
that whisper where the wind
goes next
to find you
a delayedinstant
gratifyingly still as change
does, 
taking place   

--Hop Nguyen 
* = poems are not titled but indicate location and source of inspiration

[Hamlin 5]*

chân phải chạm đất 
như không còn lựa chọn như bụi chồng chất như
tình yêu chợt ập tới hay
một cái liếc mắt lại
nghe như các chim thực sự biết bay 
phải đó là nơi bạn ngộ ra điều bạn muốn biết chăng?
im lặng đến bạn dễ dàng như bóng tối  
luôn giữa ban ngày
nếu chuyện này được dễ như
trân qúy những gì nhận được và
bỏ lại mọi thứ sau lưng
bạn nhìn đâu để biết 
tương lai bạn giữa rừng cây
thì thầm nơi gió 
đi tới 
để tìm bạn
vừa trì hoãn vừa lập tức 
một yên tĩnh thoải mái như sự thay đổi 
đang 
diễn ra

--Hop Nguyen (Vietnamese by the author)
* = poems are not titled but indicate location and source of inspiration

Suaces de brisa fresca

Listen in Spanish (mp3)
Listen in English (mp3)

Ven al bosque que está lleno de magia,
de hermosos sauces que el viento mece,
repleto de aire fresco y olientes hojas.
Sentirás la paz que irradia desde su naturaleza.
Siéntela con la música de sus pájaros
cuando caminas sin prisa.
Verás en el bosque de hermosos sauces
la caricia de su magia de amor.
Ven sin temor a conocer los sauces,
juntos viven seguro el tiempo de un viejo árbol.
Te contara la fragancia de algún enamorado
entre sus maderas que renacen constantemente,
y en su vida llena de conversaciones
estarán las risas inquietas de niños al jugar.

Fresh Breeze of Willows

Come to the forest full of magic,
of noble willows the wind rocks,
replete with fresh air and scented leaves.
You will feel the peace that radiates from your nature.
Feel it with the music of its birds
when you walk without haste.
You will see in the forest of noble willows
the caress of its magic of love.
Come without fear of knowing the willows,
together are you sure to live the time of an old tree.
I will recount to you the fragrance of someone in love
among your constantly reborn woods,
and into its life full of conversations
will be there the restless laughter of children playing.

Campo de pelota

Listen in Spanish (mp3)
Listen in English (Soundcloud)

En lo abierto del campo en el que estás
existe un espacio redondo donde jugar,
allí hay uno que lanza y otro batea,
allí entre mallas se juega a la pelota.
"Era strike", grita el catcher.
"Pues no" dice el juez, “eso es bola”,
no se le extravía al catcher que fue un hic,
y lo repite, hic... lo dice muy a la segura.
En lo abierto de este campo nacen gritos,
risas y músicas, mientras otros miran
afuera del cuadrilátero de naturaleza viva.
Béisbol, juego de personas admirables
que en el terreno abierto del bosque
inigualablemente podemos pasar un rato.

Ball Field

In the opening of the field where you are
exists a round space in which to play,
there is one who throws and another bats,
there between tights ball is played.
"That was a strike," cries the catcher.
"Well, no," says the umpire, "that’s a ball,"
there was no misleading the catcher that it hit ,
and he repeats it, hit ... he says it very confidently.
In the opening of this field are born cries,
laughter and music, while others watch
outside the ring of living nature.
Baseball, game of admirable people
in the open terrain of the forest
unrivaled can we pass the time.

En la pendiente 

Listen in Spanish (mp3)
Listen in English (mp3)

Al bosque entras despacio
y una pendiente subes suavemente.
Lo mismo solo que acompañado
irás disfrutando cada paso,
el terreno huele húmedo y
tu cuerpo se clava y golpea
a la tierra que calla al pisarla.
Enmudece el camino para escucharte
y comenzará a ser parte
viva de tu alegria libre.
Los sauces a ti se inclinan,
hay un ruido que habla
al cobijo de los pinos,
allí pequeñísimas criaturas esperan,
cuando tus pies son las raíces
en estos árboles creciendo
unidos en tu corazón.

On the Slope

Into the forest you enter softly
and a slope climbs gently.
The same alone as accompanied
you will enjoy every step,
the land smells damp and
your body sinks in and hits
the earth which is silent when you step on it.
Mute the way to listen to you
and it begins to be a living
part of your free joy.
The willows bow to you,
there is a sound that speaks
to the shelter of the pines,
there tiny creatures await,
when your feet are the roots
into these trees growing
united in your heart.

The Hamlin log

Listen in English (mp3)
Listen in Cantonese (translated and read by Eddie Tang)

ringed by cedar & fir,
second-growth trees

the metal marker
a cenotaph, the empty

mourning bench
of the imagination,

where we gather & grieve,
speak goodbye

to the beloved
before any of us

exits from the circle

Césped

Paramount Open Space 946 NE 147th Street Shoreline, WA 98155

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"Trata bien la tierra. Tus padres no te la dieron... tus hijos te la prestaron" - Kenyan Proverb

Donde el pavimento se encuentra con la grava
el césped y las lunas de diente de león crecen.

El prado abierto le da paso al Cicuta Occidental,
y también al árbol Madrone del Pacífico,

Los árboles de algodón negro liberan su pelusa translúcida girando,
cayendo sobre el tronco decadente que mantiene la vida.

Nuevos árboles crecen dentro del árbol herido,
tronco inclinado en dirección hacia el murmullo

del riachuelo donde los arbustos de moras,
hiedra, y yerbas altas crecen

Por encima del dosel el Towhee manchado canta
mientras que los cuervos y las golondrinas vuelan de rama

en rama una brillante sinfonía adormecida por la brisa tejiendo,
tiernamente la emoción de la temprana primavera.

Y los pájaros cantan, ruido melodioso a lo largo
del camino luminoso que atraviesa el campo verde.

Caminando lentamente a lo largo del borde, paso a paso
meditando en el rocío de la hierba tintineante,

las brillantes hojas verdes semejan un oasis verdoso
lejos del ruido estruendoso de las calles de la ciudad.

Greensward

"Treat the earth well. It was not given to you by your parents… it is loaned to you by your children” - Kenyan Proverb

Where the pavement meets the gravel road
leaves of grass and dandelion moons grow.

The open meadow opens to Western Hemlock,
Pacific Madrone,

Black Cottonwood trees release translucent
fuzzes twirling, falling down on nursing log sustaining life.

New saplings grow within the wounded tree,
trunk leaning toward the sound

of the shallow stream where blackberry bushes,
ivy, tall grass live.

Up above the canopy Spotted Towhee sings
while crows and swallows fly from branch to branch

a symphony gleaming lulled by the breeze weaving,
soft emotion warmth of the early spring.

And the birds sing, melodious noise along
the luminous path across the open meadow.

Slow walk around the edge, step by step
meditating on the tinkling dewy grass,

the glowing verdant leaves, a green oasis
away from the rumbling sound of city streets.

¡Pleibol! (COVID-19)

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El béisbol es un ballet sin música. Drama sin palabras –Ernie Harwell-
Para Patrick R. Duff Su vida continúa en nuestras historias 2010
Dedicado a Jim Saldin, 1916 - 2004

Nadie vino a oler el pasto recién cortado en los jardines
brillando con la lluvia temprana y la luz del alborada.
Tiza fresca por todas partes, solo silencio en las gradas.
Montículo de lanzadores, arcilla roja embalada, tope trasero listo,
el día de apertura ya pasó, pasmados por el COVID-19.

No hubo práctica de T-ball, no hubo pequeños héroes corriendo las bases
¡Pleibol! Grito detrás del home plate, el árbitro contando
Bolas buenas, bolas malas, bolas de foul y bolas perdidas
toques rodando con agonía lenta justamente fuera de la tiza.
Abalorios de rocío, bolas de colores objetos redondos que nos recuerdan

de aquellos juegos, cuando Bob y Lucille Lee aplaudieron a sus hijos
después de anotar un jonrón en el parque, mientras que Lucas Shiner
mantenía la puntuación en la tarjeta de juego.
El Rey de los deportes se juega con estilo, velocidad y un buen ojo.
Recuerden que Dean Griffith dijo: "mantén tu ojo en la pelota"

de lo contrario la pelota mantendrá tu ojo, "mira pa’ riba!"
Deja que el cuero atrape las bolas, que atrape la pelota
navegando a través del cielo entre los cedros, los pinos,
arce y abetos, cornejo y aliso. Un jonrón distante que
encontrará refugio en los bosques y arbustos de Hamlin Park.

Play Ball! (COVID-19)

Baseball is a ballet without music. Drama without words –Ernie Harwell-
For Patrick R. Duff: His life goes on in our stories 2010
Dedicated to Jim Saldin, 1916 - 2004

No one came to smell the fresh cut grass on the outfield side
glittering after the early rain and the morning light.
Fresh chalk all around, not a sound on the bleacher side.
Pitchers mound, red clay packed, back stop set,
opening day already past, COVID-19 aghast.

No T-ball practice, no little league heroes running around
Play ball! Yell behind home plate. Umpire keeping
count of balls and strikes, foul balls swung and missed
bunts slowly rolling in agony just outside the chalked line.
Dew Beads, colored balls round objects reminding us

of games past, back when Bob and Lucille Lee cheered
their kids after a home run in the park, and Lucas Shiner
kept score on the game card.
King of sports played with flair speed and a good eye.
Remember Dean Griffith said: “keep your eye on the ball”

or else the ball will keep your eye, “heads up!”
Let the hide catch the strike, trap that ball
sailing across the sky between cedar and pine,
fir and maple, dogwood and alder. A long home run
will find shelter at Hamlin Park woods and greens. 

Vértebras

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"No vemos las cosas como son, las vemos como somos. –Anais Nin (1903-1977)

Hay un lugar en el noroeste
donde se encuentra un puente, un paso elevado
que asemeja la columna vertebral de una antigua ballena gigante.
Entré al espacio vacío desprovisto de médula, tendón
grasa y carne. Desprovisto de músculos y nervios
sólo huesos grandes a mi alrededor, por encima y a los lados.
De norte a sur a este y oeste
el viento lleva el ruido retumbante
que se levanta de los carros y camiones.
Tubos de metal doblados y mallas de eslabones de cadena
forman el dosel para prevenir que los suicidas brinquen y
los maldosos tiren piedras sobre el puente que cruza la I-5
El tráfico abundaba antes que llegara la pandemia,
transportadores de leche y combustible, más camiones y motocicletas,
atascado, hoy en día el tráfico es menor, pero el ruido prevalece.
Miro hacia el cielo azul a través de la malla protectora
que asemeja a las mallas usadas por las vedettes.
Este paso elevado asemeja las entrañas de una prehistórica
ballena donde ciclistas y caminantes cruzan el viaducto
dentro de las vértebras milenarias de una ballena gigante.

Vertebrae

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” –Anais Nin (1903-1977)

There is a place in the Northwest
where you will find a bridge, an overpass
resembling the spinal column of an ancient giant whale.
Enter the empty space devoid of marrow, sinew
fat and flesh. Devoid of muscles and nerves
only large bones around you, above you, beside you.
North to South to East to West
the wind carries the rumbling noise
raised from trucks and cars the ground below.
Bent metal pipes and chain link mesh
form the canopy to keep suicidal jumpers and
rock throwers safe on the path across I-5
The days before the pandemic, traffic abound,
milk and fuel tankers, more trucks and motor bikes,
jam-packed, today traffic is less but the noise prevails.
I look up to the blue sky across the protective mesh
resembling fish nets, stockings worn by vedettes.
This overpass resembles the innards of a prehistoric
giant whale where walkers and bikers cross over
inside a whale’s millennial vertebrae.

Campo arriba u Oda para un roble

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"Cuando el roble es talado todo el bosque le hace eco a su caída, pero cien bellotas son sembradas en silencio por una brisa inadvertida" Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881)

El valle está lleno de acres de grandiosos árboles ancestrales
el viento sacude las ramas, arriba y abajo casi doblándose
Las aves responden con canciones al azar que se hunden y desmayan
en tierra seca cubierta de ramas y hojas en forma de corazón
De noche, los árboles en cerro proyectan
su sombra bajo la clara luz de la luna.
Tus ramas agitadas por el viento de este a oeste,
secretos que se cuentan cuando los pájaros no pueden dormir
Luna llena con rostro de tristeza, densas
nubes turbias, fragrantes guirnaldas de pino
Las ramas del roble y cedro crujen con el viento
cepillando tu infalible antigua grandeza mística
Mirando las estrellas y las hermosas nubes
en verano, tu esplendor empapado por el sol
Da refugio a las aves que cuelgan en tus ramas húmedas
cuervos, carboneros, arrendajos azules y nidos de águila
En la primavera tus raíces latentes desnudamente
se deshielan por debajo del suelo congelado
No digan que las raíces son débiles,
estas raíces son fuertes, las mismas raíces del ser.

High Ground or Ode to an Oak Tree

“When the oak is felled the whole forest echoes with its fall, but a hundred acorns are sown in silence by an
unnoticed breeze” Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881)
Acres of aging grand trees on the lower ground
boughs bending, rising and falling with the wind
Randomly sinking and fainting responsive bird songs
dry ground covered with heart shaped leaves and twigs
At night the trees on the higher ground cast
their shadow under the clear moonlight
Your branches blown by the east-west wind,
secrets told when the birds can’t sleep
Full moon filled with countenance, dense
murky clouds, wreaths of fragrant pines
Oak and Cedar limbs swish with the wind brushed,
your very old mystical greatness stands
Looking at the stars and the gorgeous clouds
in summertime your sun drenched splendor
Shelters birds hanging on your moist branches
crows, blue jays, chickadees and eagle nests
Nakedly standing in spring your dormant roots
thaw below the frozen ground
Do not say that the roots are weak,
These roots are strong, the very roots of being.

Asfixiado por la naturaleza

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La reverencia por la naturaleza es compatible con la voluntad de aceptar la responsabilidad del cuidado creativo de la tierra. –Rene Dubos (1901-1982)

A lo largo del camino flanqueado por troncos
helechos, arbustos verdes, ramas y árboles caídos
el bosque ancestral trae paz y alivio
dentro de los sonidos estridentes de las calles de la ciudad
Las hojas del arce proyectan sombras intrínsecas
de su historia sobre la maleza y el riachuelo.
Hace mucho tiempo el hombre trató de cortar el árbol,
abandonó la máquina al lado del joven tronco.
En el camino donde el metal sucumbió,
donde la naturaleza prevaleció apretando el metal,
llantas, ejes, barras de transmisión,
los cuervos le hacen eco al sonido silencioso del tiempo
Devorando el objeto, tractor en las raíces,
metal oxidado, retorcido inmóvil
azada oxidada, conquistada por los años
del prolífico crecimiento natural
Misterio y belleza tanto en el árbol como en la maquinaria
contando la historia por encima del suelo expuesto.
La resiliencia de la naturaleza, un corazón abierto que muestra
sus raíces fuertes, y poder para sobrevivir.

Smothered by Nature

Reverence for nature is compatible with willingness to accept responsibility for a creative stewardship of the earth.
–Rene Dubos (1901-1982)

Along the path flanked by logs
ferns, shrubs, greens, twigs, and fallen trees
aging forest brings peace, a respite
within the raucous sounds of city streets
Maple leaves intrinsic shadows cast their story
upon the undergrowth and the shallow stream.
Long ago man tried to plow the tree
abandoned the machine next to the young trunk
Along the way where metal succumbed,
where nature prevailed constricting metal,
rims, axles, transmission rods,
crows echoing the silent sound of time
Devouring the object, tractor at the roots,
twisted rusted metal immobile
rusted hoe, conquered by the years
of prolific natural growth
Mystery and beauty in both, tree and machinery
telling the story above the ground exposed.
Nature’s resilience an open heart showing
its strong roots, and might to survive.