Beautiful Stream

poems written on the appalachian trail

Ricey Clarkson New

these poems were written on the appalachian trail in virginia between calf mountain shelter and lewis mountain campground inspiration came when i threw off my backpack had a cool drink of water sat down in the shade pulled out my notebook and wrote what i heard saw smelt and touched in that moment i was freer from the concerns of the valley i hope you feel the mountain covered in green words waiting for you my favorite poem is beautiful stream because it reminds me of god when water comes together to form a vision in the summertime

summer the birds are chirping the stones are alone the wind is slow the mud is inviting me and slowly the summer winds its way around me

split at the river a father can never be apart from a son ever generated differences of emotion like a train trailing its caboose neither traveling the best path to manhood on a womans tracks split at the river

trail magic they say there is magic on the appalachian trail a bowl of noodles here a tent pole there a song waiting to see trail magic tonight

deer to the left i am alone pulling on the left the breath of nature keeps me center deer fear not my words at least the three rushing into the meadow

shocking jesus when am I going to walk with my oldest son when am I going to walk with god my savior when am I going to walk without the pain my guide when am I going to not feel alone in a crowd my comfort when am I going to feel in the woods my hope when will I not have such powerful thoughts In my mind my gift a reversal of fortunes that made me blink i remember jesus saying i wish it was i that was shocked on a cross not you

cooking its safe in the hut with boy scout leaders the rain is a chance to remember that safe not because it makes me know safe because the sound of the rain is like porridge in the morning with mother nature cooking

changes civilization a beautiful female hiker wet and muddy enters the hut she has hardened muscles flat like the top of a mountain not in a magazine her boyfriend has the same kind like a bullfrog these people walk more than they love trying to reach a mountaintop together in the rain now glistening on them both the boy scouts look at her and I at them wondering why a woman in a down pour changes civilization

connected last night in a shelter sleeping with five people i had a dream that i beat somebody up that i should not in the civilized world he was out cold on the grass forgive me lord it felt really good i woke early and ate hot oatmeal with dried cherries the rain made my entire body feel cold and alive it walked well that day connected to something

compass one day I got up and walked two miles north when I meant to go south the best friend I made on the trail turned me around and pointed me in right direction

brighter im coming out of the place the rain looks brighter the wind louder and im left wondering where have i been

trail people these trail people have a talk of there own special shoes fast hikes through hikes their feet their food the mountains they adore to me i wonder could i do that for two thousand miles

mother under my feet a strange time this is in the mountains pulling words forgetting then remembering her the woman that I loved long ago mother of my children as I walk down a narrow path shaded by oak trees near turk mountain where i saw a bear in the rain is this a still longing desire for her for mother nature for the she in me does the small size of the bear make me wonder with a breath where is the mother a good question

this is a strange time walking down steep zig zag cuts in the mountain wondering who I am when two bucks stare and snort at me a human that is all taking notes pulling words from her as I write of the mother under my feet

by the trail both feet planted resting past the water ive only to go but up water drops from a leaf to let me know birds chirp to let me know why civilization is not far but at this moment im neither civilized nor wild only walking on a path doubting jesus but knowing he is not doubting me

the joy of creeping cedar i feel terribly alone in the world its a terrible that shutters me shut eyes fixed on one reality the oak doom is near the cypress tragedy is not far away the joy of creeping cedar is there and the green moss dances around, all around and still the mountain awaits the tears of my life coming in the gorge pouring over limestone rocks turned smoother than a porch swing as mother nature takes off her gospel dress still i feel terribly alone as it should be in the shenandoah mountains with only god a companion watching so near praying for an entry to my heart

beautiful stream near pinenut shelter i walked on the side of a stream so beautiful i almost forgot it a stone ladder steeping down the side water flowing over fallen pines spraying between rocks and laughing i heard it before i saw it like angels fluttering their wings in the rain it smelt like moss covered with drops then i knew it better than person i saw white and more white moving to the beat of my pen and then i was gone around the bend climbing a huge hill that the stream cut steep like my imagination

buddha by the stream is my poetry coming back or am i distancing myself from god my god budha seems stronger in the mountains compatible with silence sitting by a stream saying shhhhhhhhhhhh to all my worries quieted allowing me to hear good thoughts that like a dog trail me panting in devotion to my sanity which will sleep tonight near buddha and the stream jesus do you know him

church plate in the mountains when fatigue and dehydration set-in you suck your water tube like a pauper takes change from the church plate give me back my liquid is how we are to suck jesus into our soul from a tube with our lips devotion to what the mountain took during the day a prayer to salvation water from the stream its the only way to know for sure

walk on the way the best way to walk is to start one foot plop another foot- plop the trail consumes your feet and your mind once on it i dont like the hills until over in conquest enjoying the downside of her underbelly to the gorge where the stream waters my fountain each step measured to meet the last on the way

sunday on the trail jesus was a hill over which we all must climb jesus was hill on which grew the vine the trees on his shelter divide our souls into streams kneel on the rock the valley knows your dream jesus was a hill jesus was a way jesus is a mountain on which i must stay in gods creative mansion moss upon the stone with jesus here on sunday why feel so alone jesus is a hill mohammed is a bone buddha is a river moses is my home the christ has risen slowly the christ has babbled like a brook the earth roared the valley shook

jesus is a mountain the grandest of them all jesus jesus you stand so tall in the sun in the rain jesus is the most poetic refrain

arrested at walmart mountain this is a long way from walmart man and a long way from father im punishing myself for the distances in the heart im alone without enough food and tired how far do i have to run to see what it is that i have to see walmart is a place of the head shopping discounts on joy and trust caught shoplifting my memory in isle twenty two next to detergent and love

little bee dont sting me little bee i only want to lay in our grass and rest we can share this place im sure we can little bee i wish to fly home as im tired of the trail no energy left

on her sweat cold in the woods on a hot summer day the green like a magic carpet ride on a rock still hidden but waiting to come out of the green she is still there the country girl written off dirt from the river bank where moonbeams strike only once i miss that poem come back let me flow like that river on her

who I love im afraid of humanity ive seen enough alone without a man the device of eternal support is she inside me am i going home god has a plan for me but i fear it like a bolt of lightening about to strike all i can do is walk to the phone and call god not a woman from a phone booth in charleston whom i love

this high im convinced this view can heal me i see green pastures thousands of feet below that are balm to my memory god created a gorge to my left that takes thoughts away the butterfly dance at ten feet then six hundred a departure in depth that humans rarely take with their own wings rumi was cured by a view was his mountain this high

over the tree tops im also convinced this view can heal you even though you are not here too see it for this view is the view that waits us all a mountaintop memory im here at the peak trying to listen as god speaks to us im confused but the wind says shhhhhhh listen to a view i hear nothing and everything over the tree tops

a poem at dinner time children are fed boy scout leaders tend the fire a poem i miss the noises of the pan the chirps of the birds make me remember flipping burgers at dairy queen each night better than the last here dinner is soft the skin of the daughter of a hiker is pale velvet leaning against her copy of catcher in the rye i too am inside our eyes crossed and we knew that

questions for god am i in or out am i black or white am i a man or a woman am i judgment or reflection am i destructive force or a light am i willingness or fatigue do i long for her or me is the wilderness heaven or hell am i a poet or not can i publish or not do my sons words matter more than any of this yes

moo moo howl howl i write now to beat something away like keeping a wolf at bay on the edge of the ranch my cows fearing the break from civilization fences guarding them from life im a cow someday and a wolf the next keep walking says the wolf call home says the cow moo moo howl howl allan ginsberg wrote about it

cell phone i dont like them they make me switch fast calling anywhere from anywhere my brain needs to know who you are and why you are calling like the wind calls the hill like a squirrel calls a nut like a rock calls mud saying im going to squish in you now me a rock big fat and round thats communication thats connection thats what i want why must i remain connected the other way

blinker do you know that blinking is not just to cleanse the eye blinking is the channel changer for matrix reality oh you who know what I mean three blinks three time zones three realities staying in each as long as its ok to see this poem probably does not make sense unless you are a blinker time changer like me blink Im gone down the trail

sometimes when i am walking the trail past oak trees i remember people

in the state mental hospital was a woman named feliz she was at least one hundred pounds over weight when flatulent she sounded like a volcano one night playing uno with her while her head shook from haldol toxicity i realized that she believed without a doubt that i was prince wiliiam the delusion sustained her through the ordeal and my temporary acceptance of it made me realize my humor was not lost on a night we shared surrounded by walls and drugs and princes now Im free in the mountains I saw from the window in ward a-2 many are not I pray form them when I hear owls at night

a passing hiker from vegas made me think of james

james was a strong young man he served his time in the hospital well reading and concentrating on science fiction novels playing game boy he had a cadence that only comes from having served jail time he shared his food with me and we played cards into the night he had three children he loved and a little brother who brought him cookies he seemed sane to me except for the al qaeda agents waiting outside the hospital doors for him his main problem was he told a cop what he was thinking and who is to say who is following who when i left the hospital we shook hands and said good luck i wish he was hiking with me good people are hard to find

as i walk each step i take a thought rises my toes near the dirt it passes my stomach where it becomes a notion as i walk it somehow makes it to my brain and becomes a memory the incline of the trail increases the rain starts the thing in my brain passes i urinate i look at wind in the trees and wonder what was it was thinking so much about