SNOW BOMBS FALL FROM GREAT FIRS

WINTER'S END

This is my life
This is not my life

Rained off one mountain
Drive home to another one

Dried out my tent
All dry on the inside

Spring and all
Garden popping

Snow and Bachelor Buttons
out my window, skis waxed

Jim Bodeen
1 April 2011


SNOW BOMBS FALL FROM GREAT FIRS

Big rain on the mothership
all night, hammering the snowpack.
Snow bombs fall from great firs
bouncing off the cloud roof
and tent in random bursts.

Winter Solstice to Spring Equinox.
My old friend, the Lutheran pastor,
Harald Sigmar, wakes without Ethel
for the first time in 60 years.
He summons what's left of a howl.

Time to break camp. The mountain
that makes me strong, puts me to sleep.
Wonder of it, walking. Waking on skis.
Sleeping, dreaming, and his great beyonds.
Story of my old friend. Time and custom

shattered before the unseen new.
So quiet in High Forest Camp.
The unwritten poem surrounds the page.
Beyond sanity and reason and religion.
His big book between us rising.

Jim Bodeen
30 March 2011
High Forest Camp


THE MONK'S HOME

Overflowing with people
Just the right number of beds.

Jim Bodeen
29 March 2011