Kenia's Wednesday Challenge, over at Real Toads today, is to write a poem about one's connection with nature. A topic dear to my heart. The poet whose style is to inspire us, is 94 year old Brazilian poet, Manoel de Barros. I would love to write in his style, and may try to later today. But what popped into my head was this first line, so I decided to follow that lead. I am remembering, here, that when I lived in Tofino, among the ancient old growth rainforest, I was told that, in days of old, the First Nations people would set the bodies of their deceased relatives in the branches of the big old trees, sitting upright, their eyes looking out at the surrounding forest and the water.
When I die,
perch me in the bowl
of an ancient cedar -
gently! -
don't crush the mosses.
Let my eyes face the sea,
my ears attune to
the tides and the patter
of the rain.
Let me sway gently
in the winter gales,
supple and bending
as a Taoist gentleman
practicing Tai Chi.
When, in time, I topple out,
come back and make a nest for me
of rotted nurselog and dampened salal.
Add a blanket
of thick moss
and gentleman's beard.
Tap it down lightly.
Let it become
a bed
for wolves.
When I die,
perch me in the bowl
of an ancient cedar -
gently! -
don't crush the mosses.
Let my eyes face the sea,
my ears attune to
the tides and the patter
of the rain.
Let me sway gently
in the winter gales,
supple and bending
as a Taoist gentleman
practicing Tai Chi.
When, in time, I topple out,
come back and make a nest for me
of rotted nurselog and dampened salal.
Add a blanket
of thick moss
and gentleman's beard.
Tap it down lightly.
Let it become
a bed
for wolves.
[image from howlingforjustice.com]
