Two Poems

Today I wanted to simply post two of my favorite poems, both speak with simple words, but are deep in eternal meaning. The first is by the immeasurable Walt Whitman, who in my humble opinion can eloquently write more in a single sentence than most authors say in entire books.  The second piece is from the poet laureate Robert Bly, which speaks clearly to how I feel when I'm out buried in the landscape.

A Clear Midnight by Walt Whitman
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes
thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

Solitude Late at Night in the Woods by Robert Bly
The body is like November birch facing the full moon
And reaching into the cold heavens
In these trees there is no ambition, no sudden body, no
     leaves,
Nothing bu bare trunks climbing like cold fire!

My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn
I must return to the trapped fields,
To the obedient earth.
The trees shall be reaching all the winter.

It is a joy to walk in the bare woods.
The moonlight is not broken by the heavy leaves.
The leaves are down, and touching the soaked earth,
Giving off the odor that partridges love.