My Spirit Guide (First Encounter)

“What are you doing here?” he asked from the maple tree.

“Working,” I replied, “I’m cleaning this cart.”

I stopped when I realized I was talking to a blackbird. The red wings spread out as he spoke.

“I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Again, I’m cleaning this cart. How are you speaking to me in this voice?”

“From time-to-time we animals speak to humans. You’re familiar with the story of Balaam?” the blackbird asked.

“Hmm, wasn’t it an ass that stopped Balaam from cursing the Israelites?”

“True but back to my question, what are you doing here, right now? Shouldn’t you be working on something else?”

“Where else should I be? I’m working. You know, honest labor and all that.” I went back to wiping down the cart.

“But what about your plans that you announced and promised that you would accomplish? What happened?”

“I don’t remember making a promise to a bird. I don’t remember making a promise to anyone. Besides, I don’t know why I’m talking to you.”

“I’m your spirit guide.”

“Some spirit guide, gone half the year.”

“But Central America is so warm in December,” he lifted his head to the sun. “Listen, you stated to yourself and to others of this wondrous plan and you’ve only slightly moved forward. How can you complete your projects if you’re cleaning carts all day? You need time to work and not work all the time.”

“Kind of like ‘work smarter, not harder?’”

The blackbird sputtered, “I’ll not be mocked! I’m here to help remind you of your duties, to yourself and to your words.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean to… ruffle your feathers,” I couldn’t hide the smirk. “I’ll find time each day now that I’m sleeping better and can get organized, set deadlines and all that. I’ll get there but I have bills to pay, trees to plant, fences to build...”

“See to it! I want to see some progress.”

I nodded in agreement. I had to admit I was slacking off lately getting my words out.

“Oh, and one more thing,” the blackbird called.


I then realized that my spirit guide was an ass after all.

 Linked at Poets and Storytellers United, Writers' Pantry #69: I Am Not Throwing Away My Shot!

To climb a tree

Is a tree meant to be climbed?
Silly me
Is a verse meant to be rhymed?
Could it be
It's how or when it's all timed?
In the span of a moment or lifetime

A grade-school boy up in a tree
Maybe ten
Chastised by a father who wanted it be
Grounded then
He said those trees were meant to be free
Let them grow so they reach to the sky

Young boy now at his father's age
Days now past
Years gone by like the turning of a page
Way too fast
Too old to climb trees - Oh the Rage!
Let them grow 'til the shade hides the sun

Yes, that was me being in trouble for climbing in a pair of hard maple trees as a youngster. Even though I was small, I could have damaged the young trees at the time. I realize this now that my climbing days are over (or are they?)

I drove by the old homestead a few weeks ago, I hadn't been there for a long time. A flood changed the town forever years ago but one of the maples that Dad planted remain. I need to get seeds before it's lost to memories.

Just a few of the walnut trees waiting for spring (much too young to climb)

 Posted at Poets and Storytellers United:  Weekly Scribblings #63: Trees


Red-headed beauty

Red-headed beauty somewhat six degrees
on through life doing what she please
took a chance to sail the seven seas
some time ago in her dreams

Danced with peasants, popes and kings
erasing hearts every time she sings
she had time for all sorts of things
of the moments in her dreams

Dancing now in her purgatory
someday maybe we could hear her story
of her fall from grace and her glory
as she lost all of her dreams

In my sleep but only late at night
I saw the her dance in blue moonlight
only to drift softly out of sight
never again in my dreams

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #63: I Say and You Say…

Fog on the road


The path is not always clear

Why is the biggest hurdle in the mind?
that quiet voice that casts shadows of doubt
thriving in the fog of uncertainty
hiding the road we must travel upon

Will the battle rage forever?
as I take up arms against this foe
this manufactured mire of my creation
the lost faith of the beginning

Did I hear that whispered voice?
those words that said, "forge on"
the sunrise crests the top of the hill
promises one day closer home 

Even in rain, the sun may shine

Spring 2021 holds some promise but offers frustration. In other words, a typical year.

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry 61: It's Been a Year

New Years Day

New Years Day was yesterday
a day of New Beginnings
but today the mists rolled in
to hide the dreams of our making

The wise man up the street
said I was stupid or insane
the jury is still out
but the judgement only comes at journey's end

For that I'm thankful
else where would I be?
Yes, in that world of lost hope
and abject misery

New Years Day plus one
as today this fog burned off
and we can see the horizon
the dream over the hill is now seen

Today's contribution is a more jumble of cryptic thoughts that reflect the nature of where we are right now: a New Beginning - of dreams, of hope, of unexpected calmness that I cannot explain.

"When you come to a fork in the road, take it." - Attributed to Yogi Berra

We'll see where this road takes us... 

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United, Writers’ Pantry #59: Love and Loss

February's grim side

I understand this winter gloom
the Eversnow that stays
from that December past until Spring

That longing time seems always
over the next hill
but not seen until it comes to its ready

My patience (or lack thereof)
means nothing to the turning of the world
More snow
more grey skies and white hills

I know Spring is near
I hear her
but the Winds of the North
carry her further away

I can only ask for the melt
but she doesn't listen
Spring comes in her own time

This winter has given us more snow than I'd like (with more on the way today.) I can hardly wait for Spring but right now, we've struggled in deep snow drifts up this hill.

Snow on the hill

Wee Sprout

Wee Sprout doing well surrounded in a blanket of snow. We look forward to a spring when we can find this young seedling growing again.

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry #58: Is it Spring Yet?

In the Way

It seems the winds
of this universe
could not plot more
to make it worse
while all our plans and dreams
even our enemies' hidden schemes
were blocked on each and every day
because now
Life just got in the way

Not much joy here
days filled with sadness
sprinkled here with
silent madness
here in my self-exile
I know I have to stay a while
so sun may shine again some day
but again
Life just gets in the way

The here and now
opposed to time past
I go forward
so this can't last
we rarely ever get to choose
the life we want - we sometimes lose
when light is dark and clouds are grey
command it
Life get out of the way

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #52: Year’s Beginning

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Faoin Scáth - Under the Shade

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