The voiceless fog
hugged me.
In that hug
it shared its dream.
A place of
contrasts.
Boundless calm.
The sun marred
with indigo.
The thrill of
climbing
out of the bay
up the slopes
into the cedars
and connecting
mountain snow
to the sea.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
Paul sat writing haiku
wreathed in mist
among the cedars.
His haiku
were little poems
avoiding convention.
His dog Whisper
snuffled about
interested in a stray wine glass.
Paul decided
the fluted glass
was meant for champagne.
He imagined
forest mice getting drunk
on its contents.
Tipsy mice
vanish quickly
in owl talons.
Whisper licked
pine needles coated
with flattened bubbles.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
Juncos dot the snow.
Salmon-fattened bears recede.
I mean I spotted tracks
on the ground headed away.
My glasses fog briefly with each breath.
Bare hands ask why no gloves.
Whisper (my dog) bounds
through the new growth cedars.
He sniffs reasons to dig
the earth bare.
We move up the valley
to that one cedar that survived
last century’s lumbermen
for unknown reasons.
If there were five of me
we could just barely link hands around it.
I see this cedar as the grandmother
of the valley.
This long walk through snow
seeks dating advice.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
Snow falls on the ocean
and approaches the cedars on land.
The mud at the side of a stream
that enters the ocean hardens by freeze.
Deer birds big cats hide themselves
as the fall thickens, speckles my line of sight.
I brought you here
into these ancient woods
under these conditions
thinking it might change you.
Foolish me.
But not disappointed
at your requests to go home
and make hot chocolate
for a seat by the hearth
to watch the dancing flames.
The snow collects on your long hair
scarf and shoulders.
I appreciate such beauty
and your bothered brown eyes.
You call out to our dog Home!
so she would know
we turned around
even though she was out of sight
bounding though the trees after a rabbit
not letting any snow collect on her back.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
To sit comfortably
on the deck
and hear
the Pacific wind
pass through
the cedar boughs
and sway
the bright
wildflower blooms
with a cup of tea
at hand
is enough poetry
for the day.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
Dora stands among cedars.
Snow falls.
Too sentimental.
Too beautiful
to become a poem
today.
A cargo ship in Puget Sound
passes behind her.
The city skyline
takes shape across the water.
It intrudes on the island.
Dora looks past it to the Cascades.
The passenger ferry intrudes as well.
Its port is several miles north.
We have hours.
It is best when
we stand together
among cedars
and the world melts away
under falling snow.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
A bagpipe’s call
wends its way
through cedars
and fog
to my porch
where I cut my hair
with clippers
and a quarter inch
guide.
Forgive me
my selfish interests
and petty happiness
both of which
passed through
the shredder
this morning.
Draped
over a chair
my white shirt
does not signal
surrender.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
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