Conjuring

The wind moves the leaves.

The sun rises.

A scout crow caws.

A bluejay squawks.

I am trying to conjure

up a deer in my heart

to put before my eyes

so I can take a shot

but I think the pauses

between the words

of the incantation

are too short, do not

allow for the elongation

of meaning to seduce

the moment in its fullness.

My shaman says, “One

incantation a day.  Tomorrow’s

another day.” Grins. 

And I sit in a natural

blind starlings overhead 

in the branches, know 

sometimes the magic

works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Think I may be caught 

in some other incantation

the way I’m so hesitant 

to leave the spot I’m in.

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com/

Redemption

The first felt air on the body

is a baptism, the way the sky,

foregrounded by horizons –

north, east, south, and west –  

is holy communion, the whispered

urgency – “Take me as I am or lose

me forever!” the holiest of holy language.

The world and time are sacred

and we are in both offered

the only salvation that makes 

any sense -- Nature never saying, “Guilty”

but only, “Come unto me.”

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com/

Long Past Recess

I go out and I take in

the funny and clever words

in rooms full of people

not even trying to hide

the schoolyard arrogance

that nobody ever grows out of

not even a schoolyard outsider 

climbing in the trees

beyond the monkey bars

long past recess

-Will Found

August 2024

https://www.studioappalachia.com/crayonblindspot.html

Shamans

I don’t know if it’s one or two shamans,

dream and sleep, holding that silver needle

and golden thread that closes wounds 

to the heart and soul and mind with that 

cross-stitch that leaves a thin golden line 

that says, “In remembrance. . .” and my thumb

rubs over the scar holding time and experience,

some type of wisdom as the shamans

sing what Crazy Jane said to the bishop,

“For nothing can be sole or whole

That has not been rent.” and I start to sing along.

-Byron Hoot 

visit hootnhowlpoetry.com  

Art by Eleph Myrrh

 

Art by Eleph Myrrh  https://eleph-myrrh.mailchimpsites.com/painings 

Art by Zach Baker

 

From Artist Zach Baker @https://www.instagram.com/studio.zachlectic/

It Doesn’t Take Much To Make a Pulpit

The sparrow is on the pulpit of a small branch

which curves up slightly at its end.

I saw it fly and land and survey what it saw

including me looking out the screen door,

caught by its flight and landing,

its sense of not staying too long.

Now, a robin walks beneath the empty

pulpit and likewise is gone as if the sermon

of the day has something to do with impermanence,

how a moment can fit together and disappear

without that sense of loss, of bowing at what’s

been given however briefly forever lasts.   

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com

History Accessible

I have stood in front of mirrors 

enough to make a history.

To know who I see is not 

who has been nor will be.

Like all histories, the facts

are joined to stories

that dip in and out of time,

dreams and memories,

that awakening reality the oxymoron 

of existence.  Sometimes it’s hard

to say, acknowledge who I see reflected

is me.  I know, though, if eyes look into eyes

sometimes what is concealed is revealed –

for a moment,

                 longer,

                          for a lifetime

another mirror passed by.

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com

Red is the Violet

Red is the violet
Blue is the rose
To you a birthday happy
(I'm up-mixed, you suppose?)
If from me a tip you'll take
Since "Fair is all in love and war".
And "Tis fair play to turn about".
You're 45, not 54.
Wish best,
Rose Maude

-Maude Rose Kelly
Salem, Virginia 1966
Born 1912-Pike Kentucky
https://vawestva.livejournal.com/

The Sermon of the Trees

Sometimes I hear the trees talking 

about that first tree of knowledge,

the natural fruit it bore,

that it’s not their fault the world

is how it is. That the human mind,

necessary as it is, doesn’t always

seem natural.  That instead of fitting

things together it tears them apart

and doesn’t know how to heal.  “Thank

God for the heart!” they whisper

leaf by leaf, tree by tree, root by

root.  Sigh and dance with the wind,

look at me to make sure I’ve heard

The Sermon of the Trees today.

I bow slightly, my eyes squinting

in the sun, almost understand

what the crows are saying.

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com

Reflection

I had some night crawlers
to use up, a beer to drink.
I got to the lake at early dusk,
the sun just below the trees.
And cast my hook and line
seeing the sky and shoreline
reflected on the lake, thought
"as above, so below" not believing
the lake held some esoteric
knowledge but noticed how I
stumbled over the word 'reflected'
and cast again. 

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com