What Calls Our Name

© Spencer Byles

© Spencer Byles

When we find water, that gurgling stream,

while sunlight sparkles the ambience we dream

might let me travel away from this time

when I couldn’t hang onto a rhyme,

a reason, a thoughtful enterprise

a purpose, with growing desire I rise

to the occasion

without indecision.

When mounting concern envelops my mind,

I look to the sky, its well, in my nature I find

solace in a stream, a part of the wood,

that place I would hide myself if I could,

only to suggest the concrete is a certain pain,

when the body makes contact, a bruise remain.


The city itself is a metaphor for strife

my God, could I ever begin my life,

if forever I am drawn by the task and need,

of thousands of bodies all taking the lead.


I stepped into the woods to sweet brush in green,

the fresh scent of pine, sounds of life serene,

I thought about what I had just left behind,

realized this is where my peace I’d find.


I wander alone through the city, a menacing arsenal

delivers winding avenues, escapes inside the pines tall.

Outside This Day


Outside the whistling has begun,

reminds him of a time,

tying lures and gathering sun,

waiting by a river’s lime,

hours of leisure to scan the water

to watch the rise in spring

while society in all of its bother

cannot disrupt this life’s sing.

Yet, when we are constant remind

mirror spacious waters in sight

a forest of life will cross our mind

a singular branch has blight.

Our moral lives may present at length

To know sweet goodness has strength

Wander While Waiting

© Dani Stites

© Dani Stites Photography


Mark upon a day when you looked beyond the cliff,

a clear drawn out valley delightful in color caress a sad river

traveling in the distance, with so much forest,

lush green and wild abandon just beyond our reach.

Yet, on the crest your feet remain planted unable to imagine

a world beyond your own that plays in your mind.


How do we begin to understand the Nature around us

when we cannot conceive the world we have created alone,

worried about a disease that hasn’t even reached our veins,

while others kill us on a regular basis, in gradual numbers

we all seem to receive some natural plan, an action

that once it is set in motion ranges like a river carving through the land.


I remember picking up single rocks alone,

and tossing them over that edge, imagining me

instead, falling, and drifting through time,

away from my mind, that keeps me stuck

on the crest of the hill looking upon recent valleys,

those that remind me where I’ve been, where I may go.


When I sit in quiet solitude and imagine the life I lead

I do wonder whether it might be right, or is it fate

to believe that somewhere in the scene scape exists a time

we no longer may touch, yet still evolves with the fortune

of eyes, a quiet interlude of life driven values. I may

walk across my threshold to yield my life forever.


Today I will wander without lifting my feet, yet my eyes

look out upon a horizon of love and reality, just waiting.

If, Only

'the bond' © Jessica LaRue

‘the bond’
© Jessica LaRue


I could hold you in my palm,

piqued eyes glance my strangeness,

allowing for the moment

such unusual paths,

yours one of fancy flight

mine left to observe.


If, only

we could share the brilliance

around us in morning’s light,

soft petals of forest ground,

delicious ambers in meadow

I cast my eye upon the world

you stream in swept glide.


Might, then

our pain begin to subside

when in Nature’s oneness

each avenue we choose

could be the same as our

hearts seem to yearn often

in the break of day, quiet nigh.


Now, when

we are together alone as one

our worlds collide with peace

I study your balanced agility

while you glance my curiosity

the skies remain the same

two worlds, similar dreams


If, only that freedom

Late Nights

Silence the tube

that distraction

a genius contraption

has me wallowing well into the night

the dark world surrounds me

without daily activity.

When I step outside

I feel the chill of discretion

everyone is hiding

deep inside the forest of our mind

we are all challenged by the silence.

When in the break of day

we can surround ourselves

with horns and traffic, faces and eyes

at night, in the twilight

all we are left with is imagination

the surreal reality of what lies around us

the unknown that we sometimes favor

quite readily rather than the known.

Step into a forest, a real woods

trees and brush that will envelop

any novice in the night sky

hope for a moonlit horizon

to help one traveler realize their way

to find their compass in the sky.

At night, while I now sit in silence

having extinguished modern electronics

I sometimes wonder

what is the attraction to my insomnia

beyond the reality of my quiet anxiety.

Listen to the Wind


Howling like scorned wolves buried in the dead

of a winter’s night, cold arctic hallowing calls.

Feeding upon nature’s gifts, abundant only while

eyes allow our hearts to understand our worth

swept apart by God’s mighty hand of decision

we beckon to the call of our own shallow vanity.


Listen to the wind share melodic tones sweeping

through the pines and thistle bound forests

whose world remains quiet to our own needs,

only to become vibrant soon after we step away.

We hear chants as our toes and heels crush the ice

Of roadway freeze, wondering aloud our distant lives


if ever there were an opportunity to understand Her

natural hold on our lives, well beyond the conversation.

Work Habits

I’m inside a forest

Been here before

Yet this isn’t serene

With peeks of sunlight

Through maples and pine

This one

Dark and scary contains the evils

My childhood remembers

You know

Quiet nights in my room

Hearing footsteps

Along the hallway

Not knowing

Or wondering

If they existed

Or was my heart pounding

With a certain fear

That memory

And tonight

Well that beat

That rhythmical pattern

Is present

As I imagine what lies ahead

What needs will arise

As I step gingerly through the brush

Not sure of my footing

And knowing that time before

Cannot be returned

And I adjust

Looking for a new path

Some guided tour perhaps

An acceptable journey

Without anxiety

No fear

Just quiet roads of thought

The forest is dark in a cavernous way

When logic has left an ocean surround.