Author's Note: A place for poetry

Author's Note:

I messed this book up when I set it up. I meant for "The Soft Blue Light of the Seasons Second Yule Moon" to be the first poem in a longer collection of poetry.

But fate would not have such.

Instead, ended up making "The Soft Blue Light of the Season's Second Yule Moon" be the title and introduction of the collection. And I'm not going to fight it. That seems as good a title for a collection of poetry as any other.

What will you find here: I believe that the single most overlooked aspect of writing is the part that comes after creation: Publishing. You can write the greatest works the world has ever known, but if you hide them away nobody else can ever find value in them.

I'm not saying these are the single greatest works the world has ever known, that's for you to decide. I think what's more important is that they're published here, for you, to enjoy. To value. To republish if you see fit. (Drop a note if you do!)

These are some poems I wrote and I want you to enjoy them.

--Gabe Wollenburg
Jan. 5, 2010 \ Rock on, small link text \ Photo attribution

Between the father and the sun

Between the father and the sun

Warm mists fall. Up, the leaves turn.
Skyward looking, I find I yearn
for lazy days of light and love.
A storm is coming from above.

Clouds come roiling, dark falls quick;
the sky bursts forth, the downpour thick.
Pelting rain makes branches droop
and turns the playground into soup.

Rain comes and goes and still no beam
of hope or joy can yet be seen.
When darkness does not soon abate,
a foul end must sure await
those that stand in long of light.
So sour turns this day's sun rite.
The coming of this days delight
seems snuffed by this dark, hurtful blight.

Rain and storm and death and pain
and trees that break and loves that maim.
One might give up: say all is lost--
This despair has too great a cost.

Reminded, am I, by call of wren.
Sun shines above; day comes again.

Let shadow take its course and then
the earth can heal the works of men.

June 21, 2010 \ Photo attribution

Celebration of a certain group of friends, many of whom I am yet to meet.

Celebration of a certain group of friends, many of whom I am yet to meet.

Labor Day:

A group of strangers, focused and with intentions clear, sets fire to themselves.
Through pain and celebration, they are unified and reborn.
Reset by divine experience, they wobble across the peat and set to returning to the world.

And it is not the same.

As they tear down their village, they are not yet aware that the world around them has changed as well.
A snap. A crack. A puff. And a smolder.
They are strangers no more.

I am searching for another chance at that experience.
Can you bring the fire home? Are you even supposed to?
Or, is there a larger, less personal, purpose to it all.
The answer, my newest friend, may be yes.

Walk with me, and we’ll find out.

Jan. 5, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Down on Down

Down on Down

Yesterday, I saw a baby crane.
She stood between her mother and her father
in a creek that runs down the highway.

All three were tall, and proud,
The youngster's fluff not yet worn down by the persistent din of the interstate.

I should have taken their picture.
I should have gone home happy.

June 07, 2011 \ Photo attribution

Drink Deep

Drink Deep

1.

Drink deep
this amazement,
this wonder;

fill your empty places
with these drops
of love and whimsy.

Keep your heart
light by sipping
this curious amazement,
this earth.
this life.

Dance and sing.
Call and response.
Paint and play.

This wonder is yours to enjoy.

2.

When you are done, Drink again!

A wonderous delight,
such as our time together,
is meant to be enjoyed.

There are but 13 moons each year.
It may seem a lot,
but I assure you,
they go by too quick.

Let us pause between each frothing cup of joy
to apreciate how this moment came to be.
Let us will linger there--
but only for a second.

The next cup is coming fast
and you wouldn't want to miss it.

March 2010 \ Photo attribution

Earth: This time around

Earth: This time around

This life. This time around.
This blue-green gate of experience
is the place from where
our ancestors came and went.
It is our cradle and our casket.

This is the earth we stand upon:
We walk as creatures born of mud and dust.
We walk as creatures born as equals.
We walk in a miasma of existance, unaware of the life in which we tread. Look around!

Earth is.
Earth was.
Earth as will ever be.

We will break our mother's heart again and again
but she will take us back when we come to her.
We love her for it.

Wisdom of the earth is knoweldge incarnate, built of beauty, bone, peat and power.
On Earth, my friend, your virtue is reborn.

Jan. 25, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Eleven years again.

Eleven years again

When I walk with you again,
I hope my fresh-born heart remembers
our happy Mays and warm Septembers
spent ‘round the fire’s glowing embers.

I will walk with you again,
where the peat meets forrest’s floor.
Your heart’s the key and mine’s the door,
that we may fall in love once more.

I will walk with you, my friend.
I will walk through thick and thin.
I will find you in that place where
our re-born hearts are home again.

May 15, 2010 \ Photo by Robert Paxton

It happens in the gutter.

It happens in the gutter.

May 27, 2010: 48 hours to go

Fire Friends and Fire Brothers,
Fire Sisters and Fire Lovers:

Dance!
Dance until sunrise
for it will be over
far
to
soon.

June 1, 2010

Come the next morning as you're standing in the sun
look to the west and see that the shadow is not gone. It is still there.
And ask yourself this:
Who is casting that shadow?

------
The night before:
When you were surrounded by shadows, who cast the light?
------

Walk. Dance. Sing. Serve.

*Shine*

June 1, 2010 \ Photo attribution

Krampus is Watching

Krampas is watching

Through Roofs of Tin
and roofs of thatching
Beware! Beware! Krampus is watching!

Say you’re creeping down yule-tide stair
to spot your gifts 'fore morning's there
and should you see black tufts of hair
Run! Black Peter awaits those who dare
to spoil the joy of holiday's morn.
Corporate greed receives his scorn.

It’s not just children who’d be well to fear
CEOs shiver when Black Peter’s here.
It is their greed that brings the Krampus near
through this holiday and in New Year.

Lady Crow visits and shivers.

Lady Crow visits and shivers

Smelling of oil and spilled road salt, Lady Crow takes a short rest on the barren tree that grows along the shoreline. She shakes and preens. She puffs and combs her feathers. She looks to the white sky and sighs; it is a cold day and the promise of spring flickers only slightly on the horizon. It will be colder before it is warm again.

With a stretch of her wings she floats away from the winter wind by becoming part of it.

  Pearls of snow flutter down from her perch, their journey a short-lived legacy of her visit. They sparkle as they fall.

Jan. 10, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Mother teases as the seasons creep

Mother teases as the seasons creep.

Mother teases as the seasons creep.
She knows what she wants, and she can’t help but give glimpses
of the fires that bellow below her crusted coverings.

Ragged tufts of green poke between the crusts and cracks.
A bountiful bust of blossoms stands between the stations.

Can the turning of seasons come so closely to the deeps of winter’s despair?

That is not ours to say.
But it is ours to hope.
 
We hope
and hope
and hope some more.

Life waits between the peaks and valleys. Fire strikes at the midpoint, snuffing desolation with its bawdy smolder. Its flames belch dance and song, bread and wine.

It is springtime, and it comes again.

Feb. 2, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Old Hawk and the Wind

Old Hawk and the Wind

Resting in a crooked breeze, Old Hawk clutches a bony limb that long
ago shed its bark.

He is perched at a crossroads; one highway veers left, another right.

Both roads take travelers to the same place.

Old Hawk knows this.

There are hundreds of birds swarming like butterflies on the lake today; they gorge themselves, flying low and skimming across the water in an ancient springtime dance.

It is a cold and grey springtime. Amid the straggling snowflakes falling in a fairies' dance, winter's last children trickle from the sky. A thousand tiny adventurers make their way to the ground below, each one forever changed by the journey.

Old Hawk's coat is worn thin. He holds his shoulders at his side and keeps his chin tucked low.

When the sun comes, things will change again.
Old Hawk knows this.

April. 8, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Stay off the ice

Stay off the ice.

Today, the ice is clear across the lake-- a top-down view into an underwater world.
The cold glass creates a barrier that keeps all but the slightest out and away;
the lake likes it like that.
With nobody so brave to swim or so foolish to walk
things can settle for a bit
before a rowdy spring sure to come.

January 03, 2012 \ Photo attribution

The sun rises again.

The Sun Rises Again.

And the sun shines on the third day. As it ever does.

The old songs mean something again.
And our hearts beat loud and clear for all.

Let the healing continue.

This adventure we have undergone was great,
and the adventures we will go on tomorrow will be great.
As the adventures of those that came before us were great.

Let the sun shine on the third day anew.
Let the sun wash over the field of our ordeal and cleanse us,
shine on us,
bring another tomorrow to us.

Though worn and weary, come to the end of this third day and behold that light, and be grateful.

Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you for your warmth.
Thank you for your gentle light.
Thank you for your life-giving power.

Let us use it wisely.

Sept. 2010 \ Photo Attribution

Vessels of Change

Vessels of Change

Vessels of change
Vessels of change
Things that are normal
will soon seem quite strange.

Come this time tomorrow--
it’s hard to explain--
it will all seem quite different,
you now see what i’m saying.

This is a big one,
a heralded transition,
and those who have missed it
may have failed to listen
to the warnings that sung
from the tops of the trees,
from the depths of the ocean,
from the birds and the bees.

The storm’s come and gone,
and we’ve walked now around.
Walked somber and serious
till our purpose was found.

There will be again joy
and there will be again play.
It’s a shift in the times
and it begins here today.
This is the start
of a glorious rebirth.
A fresh coat of paint
for the children of Earth.

So pray for our people,
our lives and our times.
Pray for our memories,
our hearts and our minds.

And as the sun rises--
let the story be told--
the work’s made a difference;
our lead’s become gold.

May. 31, 2010 \ Photo attribution

Walk with me again

Walk with me again.

Here again.
A year ago I hit the ground running.
Three-hundred and sixty-two days ago I saw my third sunrise in as many days and I was a changed man. And then again. And then again. And then again.

Walk with me.

Walk with me; you will find the path is not as clear as it should seem.
Walk with me; you will find you had no idea what you were getting into.
Walk with me; you will find I have no idea where we are going.
I will lead you astray. I will do things wrong. I will wreck your walk. I will hurt your feelings. I will say and do and think things that are not the things that you will want me to say, do and think.

Walk with me anyway.

The destination is not as important as the path, which is not as important as the journey.

Walk with me anyway. we will walk to new and wonderful places.
Walk with me anyway; we will discover things and feelings we did not know we were capable of.
Walk with me anyway; we will say and do and think the answers to questions we never knew we had.

We will walk in profound joy and we will walk in profound grief. And we will come to the face the sunshine on the third day and we will stand in front of our new family and we look each other in the eye and see the light is cast not by the sunshine alone.

And then we will be apart.

When I think back on that morning when the sun shined over the forest’s peak on the third day, I will remember the love you showed me.
And the pain of your absence will be lessened when I realize, one day, we will walk together again.

Sept. 2010 \ Photo Attribution

Where Dreams Grow Strong

Where dreams grow strong

They dance and jump, adorned with wings;
their hearts inspired by Circle’s rings.
We’ve gathered here to revel spring.
Our muse has come. They dance, we sing.

From varied path, and sundry way,
now gathered here among the fae,
with joy and love, we skip and play.
This is how we welcome May.

With lines in hand, we trill our song.
The air and earth will sing along;
The dew and flame come dancing strong.
To grace and glee, our hearts belong.

Atop the pole, follow the weave,
A wish, a dream, things to conceive.
And when time comes that all must leave,
in magic lands, they do believe.

And in their homes, across the miles,
throughout the season’s coming trials,
they labor long, and yet they smile;
their joy, it makes the land fertile.

It’s not just for the lands, you know.
It’s not just soil where good things grow.
Within your heart you also sow
the seeds of life with your love’s flow.

May 3, 2010 \ Photo attribution