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Posts Tagged ‘forest’

Meeting Winter

Over out across winter’s day,
A pale blue with wisps of white,
Some sad forest with autumn gone,
Those trees that miss the season’s life.

I wander through at easy pace,
No goal in mind, no worrying,
The cold has me awake and clear,
The trees question what life I bring.

I am no season or the sun,
I cannot stop the season’s sleeping,
I am here by accident,
I can’t replace what nature’s taken.

But life still stirs, just slowly so,
Among some trees the birds still sing.
Among the ground some life is found,
Those hearts still beat under winter’s wing.

Maybe my small heart still glows,
Reflecting golden hopes of sun,
The subtle sounds of winters woods,
Wishing for that warmth to come.

At night when dark and cold must mix,
All living hearts are little lights,
Keeping safe those that are around,
Giving pulse to the lonely night.

At last I’m trapped out here somehow,
My glow is fading but won’t forget,
Those little torches light the way,
That night when winter and I met.

Kyle McHale      2011

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Dying in a Chair

I don’t want to die in a chair,
I’d rather be afoot somewhere,
To be out there when I’ve no air,
The men before me died in chairs.

For Pop-Pop faded in a chair,
All that he saw way over there,
The Pacific blood he went through,
Then understood what men must do.

For Gramps faded in a chair,
All that he saw way over there,
The prison camps that he went through,
Then understood what men must do.

For Dad faded in a chair,
All that he saw way over there,
That jungle hell that he went through,
Then understood what men must do.

I don’t want to die in a chair,
I’d rather be afoot somewhere,
To be out there when I’ve no air,
The men before me died in chairs.

Kyle McHale      2010

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Man’s Heart

Always now, as always then,
A place to form a perfect age,
When chivalry and better men
Had fine-tuned their sharp, skillful rage,
Or showed their love with letters sent,
With blood and earth on an old page.
Better or worse to woman that
Could then play puppet, tit for tat.

Always now, as always back
When only strength in men had failed,
Crushing thoughts of a woman that
Gave wind to an empty sail,
The only thing that men do lack,
Finding strength in loves betrayal.
Old knights and new knights do their best,
Holding hearts from a bursting chest.

Always now, as always ago,
Carried honor but could not pass,
Through or around the awful show
Of two body prints in soft grass
Where love was formed and made to glow,
But no one told not made to last.
A time or two duration of,
When honor thinks it can keep love.

Always now, as always had
To carry swords and steel plates,
But battle flesh is far from sad
When stacked against loving’s hate,
Of that which kills a lonely lads
Chance at keeping honors fate.
What swords of men, what honor set
Of traits can make good men forget?

Always now, as always past,
Dark ages come and go away,
It’s sweetest things that do not last,
That make men men in honors way,
Carrying forth the only task
To say the words when one must say,
I am man with armored heart,
I lead worlds that once were dark.

Kyle McHale      2009

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The Wild Ravine

Remembrance of a wild spot,
Paths unknown through time’s web,
Holding deep some sacred rock
Where all stays amongst the sacred thread
Of all that’s gone and up ahead,
Everything, alive and dead.
Whispers only a few may hear
When most don’t know locked behind doors
Seeking comfort on man-made floors
And miss the wonders in a year.

For crashing in and letting out
The cries of beasts and past dead men,
Some may know when nature shouts
Linking now to what was then.
A deep ravine that hides its place,
Where glowing ferns fill up the space,
Where thoughts and dreams are frozen still,
The canopy becomes the scene,
The whispers flow in secret streams
And all is subject to its will.

Trapped is time, the motions flow,
The ground stays touched by natural hands,
The crafty creatures stay down low,
All is harmony in the land.
The quiet sounds are so profound,
Except the feet that trudge the ground.
Join the place carved by the knife of
Ancient shaping artists who wait
Eons of perfection to create
Nature that takes but also loves.

Kyle McHale       2012

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Deep at the Roots

When the light fades over the hills,
The world quiet and resting,
Among the creatures place you sit
At odds with what you are thinking.

Know that life is fast, life is slow,
Sit and rest in your wooden chair,
Breathe it all in to cycle out,
Trust your thoughts to that low lit air.

Let it take your troubles out there,
Sit easy for a time and then
Your thoughts will spread in that soft wind
To find you back in a time when

Dirt and cricket chirps had meaning,
When nothing mattered but the sun,
When crayfish waited for your small hands,
When you first had to trust someone.

That breeze will bring it back to you,
Remind you life is not that way,
Then as the early night time falls
Be thankful for the warmth that day,

And sweetness flows deep in the ground,
That pulsing life just under foot,
Just dirt and crickets singing loud,
Touch all of life deep at the roots.

Kyle McHale      2010

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Between Trees and Stars

What floats around the canopy
At night when owls and stars can see
The tops of giant evergreens
Where those wonders are seldom seen?

That place where trunks may kiss the sky,
Where wind and secret stars pass by.
Given life by remoteness deep
Into the woods the whispers keep

That very line a sacred place.
The last green needles seeking space
Towards heavens true star lit map,
An ancient road, an unworn path.

Between there sits some answers to
What can’t be seen in day time blue.
If only one could fly with owls,
Or travel as the grey wolf’s howl.

Kyle McHale      2011

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The Sleeping Pond

Just out of reach of this world,
There lies a simple sleeping pond,
It will sit, and it will stare
At all who try to enter there.

Around it a protective wood,
Far off from any working map,
A wood of old green growth and deep,
Cradles the pond so it can sleep.

Sleeping well under an old spell,
The pond lay dormant, quiet still,
Behind the reeds that slowly sway
At waters edge through night and day.

Though creatures roam round all the scene,
But hidden down and blending in,
They keep the water’s secret close,
For they all fear the sleeping most.

A place only the lost can find,
Then further still the blue ponds spell.
The last who wandered off the map
To find the ponds secret trap,

Was a fairy with flapping wings,
Beautiful and innocent.
Where was she exactly going?
Once off course, without knowing,

The creatures let her pass to see
All the place and enchanted wood,
For they all know the thirst that comes
When one arrives by blue pond sun.

Thinking it safe for it to drink,
Those tiny hands took up a cup,
And put it to her tiny lips,
Such beauty in small finger tips.

At an instant she fell asleep,
Then lied so peaceful on the ground.
Creatures not phased by fairy sleep,
Came in to set the beauty deep

Into the old blue sleeping pond.
They watched her slowly sink down in,
So beautiful they watched her fall,
As her hand wished farewell to all.

For three slow days she floated down,
While turning slowly like the earth,
With no more fairy thoughts to sing,
A lovely type of hovering.

Water having her thoughts and wings,
At three days end she found the truth,
Softly landed on a pile,
As lightly as a dreaming child.

The selfish water had it all,
A mound of sleeping things to keep:
Humans, elves, fairies and nymphs,
Monsters, souls, and ghosts, a prince.

All have found the sleeping secret,
The one the forest creatures keep,
All drifted down that three day fall,
Not knowing what their sleeping saw.

No one leaves, no one leaves, to tell
The world what happens there,
The pond wants all to slumber down,
To dream with water, not the ground.

No chance at all of an escape,
The creatures guard, the water sees,
The pond has all their dreams and thoughts
For fear its secrets may be lost.

Kyle McHale      2010

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