Poems of the North
By Allan James Grund
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © January 2011 by Allan James Grund
Poems of the North has been excerpted from a larger work titled: Along the 45th Parallel – Poetry and Prose © January 2011 by Allan James Grund
Endorsements:
“Have just finished the excellent "Poems of the North." Your nature poetry is, as always, a pleasure; vivid, ardent, and observant. The attentiveness and utmost respect you have for the trees, plants and animals inhabiting our physical world is a joy to read. The other poetry, particularly your introspective verse, is very astute, discerning and heartfelt. It is a privilege to share in what you have written.”
—Pat Johnson – B.S. Sociology, M.S. Library Science
Other Books by Allan James Grund:
The Song of the Wood Man—A Poetic Journey
Along the 45th Parallel—Poetry and Prose
Alex of Bendelow
Upacqua—The Bearer of Logs
Two Soldiers—Companion Book to the Sesquicentennial Edition Audio Book
Confessions of a Lousy Grouse Hunter
Paradise Mountain
The Portal
CD’s by Allan James Grund:
The Would Man
Archives
Two Soldiers—Reflections on the War Between the States
Two Soldiers—Part II
Two Soldiers—Sesquicentennial Edition Audio Book
Two Soldiers—Part III
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to one simple idea: good poetry is always and only in the heart and mind of each individual reader and has nothing to do with its market potential
Synopsis:
All poetry written by the author while living in a wild place in Northern Michigan. Subjects range from trees to nature to people to life and death.
Table of Contents
Poems of the North
i live in a wild place in a wild place i live
where i am the intruder and i beg the wild forgive
my daily interruption of this wild and secret space
for i live deliberately far from the human race
i walk in a wild wood in a wild wood i walk
where i am the intruder and i wish the wild would talk
and tell me all the secrets of this forest neighborhood
for i walk deliberately where no other human would
i sing in a wild voice in a wild voice i sing
when i am the intruder and i know the wild is king
my daily interruption comes from no one else’s choice
for i sing deliberately far from all human voice
i live in a wild place in a wild place i live
where i am just a pilgrim and beg the wild forgive
my daily interruption of this wild and secret space
for i live deliberately far from the human race
i heard two gun shots come over the ridge at dawn
(the dark had not even gone to light)
and said a quick prayer for the poor deer in flight
were it not for the rut
this deer is not upon this ridge this day
were it not for the rut i too would not be here to pray
a very loud silence came over us all
“come into the swamp…” was the white cedars’ call
where the boiling spring’s water refuses to freeze
and its ripple comes out from under the trees
where the winds cannot grow to be more than a breeze
where the pine and the spruce and the fir and the birch
provide visitors with a primeval church
“come into the swamp and hear the footfall”
a very loud silence came over us all
a very loud silence came over the earth
“come into the swamp for a kind of re-birth
where the deer and the grouse and snowshoe reside
and the bear and raccoon hibernating-ly hide
and the laws of survival are all they abide
where the seed or the needle
the nut or the cone
are all that remain for the birds to live on
“come into the swamp…
for a kind of re-birth”
a very loud silence came over the earth
a very loud silence came over us all
it came with the first snow late in the fall
it hung there as if not sure which way to go
heavy at first then gradually slowing down in the swamp
where the white cedars grow
“we’re in this together” is all one could hear
deafening at first then silent as fear
“come into the swamp answer the call”
a very loud silence came over us all
how do i get to there from here
when there is so far away from near
a train a plane a bus a car
there seems so incredibly far
from where i am
from where i be
a way to get there i cannot see
the moon can speak if it wants to
the man cannot ever hear it
once inside the body morphine never leaves
the drug fades but does not go away
the man goes away
a wooden box resting on rows of jagged rocks
gave silver toes balance
long enough to cast a plastic worm into the pond
young fish always seem attracted to all that glitters
the wooden box is empty now
silver toes is gone
all the young fish are safe again
even the old ones rest easier
all that glitters is gold
it’s funny the trees that the cedars let in
they’re very selective it’s almost a sin…
they’ll let in the ashes that grow pretty thin
and don’t need much more than four or five feet
before straight up they go (with their roots in the peat)
i’ve seen ‘em (the ashes) grow thirty feet tall
without any branches not any at all
i’ve seen ‘em grow straight as an arrow and true
in between old cedar branches – and new
poets are like cedars it’s almost a sin…
they’re very selective about words they let in