“Stream Among the Reeds”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

“Stream Among the Reeds”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

stream among the reeds
peeks at me through cattails
laughs and runs away
do you know you have my heart
do you, little one

I am but an old man now
nearing the clearing
in the woods where I will lie
among columbines
and verdant ferns to make peace

with the universe
every season has its end
every leaf must fall
Luna’s aspect silver-sheened
cycles heavenward

but you, my fair lithesome stream
whose silken skin glows
gilded ‘neath this summer’s eve
whose siren-song calls
forth the sweetest memories

from a lifetime’s font
of sorrow and bleak despair
whose ethereal
caress balms this broken soul
you, my little one

nurture and rejuvenate
keeping hope alive
koi kitsune dragonfly
tree and earth and sky
all accept your gracious gift

but what of you, friend
what recompense lies in store
for your kindly ways
koi glide somnolently in
slow shadowed currents

oblivious to your touch
wary kitsune
drink covertly, disappear
into bamboo groves
gone without a second thought

dragonflies alight
absent-minded and aloof
on reeds and never
acknowledge you smiling face
as you watch amused

do you ever wonder, friend
if anyone cares
does your joyful mien disguise
a heart bereft of
love, a loneliness so deep

it cripples you and
leaves you reeling as you wend
your way on life’s path
through wood and meadow and cleft
choking back your tears

I am not long for this world
but I’m here for you
my friend, let us sit and talk
and commune beneath
this willow upon your bank

let us share our souls
let our words pierce through the veil
that obscures our hearts
let us spend what time is left
in good company

years ago you smiled at me
peering through the reeds
and that’s made all the diff’rence
in the world to me
you’ve made all the difference to me

77 thoughts on ““Stream Among the Reeds””

  1. Beautiful, Mike. I love it. Your descriptions are so vivid and powerful. I love your use of creatures from folklore. It makes it very magical. The theme and tone are the perfect blend of melancholic reflection and tender hope. 😊💖

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    1. Thanks so much, Iseult. I just penned this poem tonight and it feels good to be writing again (three new poems over the past four days). My “haiku for inspiration” trick seems to be working thus far (knocks on wood). I’m so pleased to know you enjoyed this one. I seem to get into one of my moods when I’m writing about nature. It’s the next-best thing to actually being out there with my camera. I’m super-glad you liked this one, my friend. Your kind support is so appreciated! 😊

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    1. Thanks so much for this incredibly kind comment. I’m glad this one spoke to you today. I think we all need to spend time under the willow by the stream now and then, you know? You’ll always have a place there, my friend. 😊

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    1. Many thanks, Ashley. I’ve been going through my haiku/senryu collection recently to try to break through this eight-month long stretch of writer’s block, wondering if I could expand on a few of them. They’re literally tiny kernels of inspiration, ready to go, you know? And it’s been working thus far, which has been a delightful surprise. Hopefully this will continue and allow me to get back into the flow of things again. So, there will likely be a bunch of new nature poetry on the way (yay!). I appreciate your kindness, my friend, and always welcome you here. Thanks again! 😊

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    1. Thanks a bunch, Gary. You know, I had a feeling you might relate to this one. There’s something about natural bodies of water that just feels sort of magical, you know? Streams, ponds, rivers, lakes, oceans…heck, even sandstone potholes after a big rain. I’ve always been fascinated with water in nature (which is strange since I can’t swim); the first time I ever saw the ocean at age 31 was a life-changing event. I’m happy to know this one connected with you. I imagine (and have read on your blog) you have about a million stories to tell about your adventures on lakes and rivers. Thanks for such a nice comment, good sir. I appreciate you. 😊

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      1. Mike, research has shown that the human family tends to flock to natural bodies of water when time comes for rest and renewal because the colliding droplets in moving water create negative ions, which make people feel good again. If these are particularly effective for you, it’s possible to buy or order either small indoor fountains or little negative ion generators for the home.

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    1. Thanks so much, Bruce. I like to anthropomorphize nature in my poetry. It really does seem to speak to us, if we’re willing to listen. Being out in nature (especially during my nature photography days) was such a blissful, healing experience. That old cliche’ about being at one with nature really does apply. It’s calming and centering and nurturing. I appreciate your kind comment, my friend, and I’m always happy to see you stop by. Glad to know this one spoke to you. 😊

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    1. Thank you so much. I’ve been in a creative mood lately and have been able to write some new poetry (first new material since June 2023). It feels pretty good to find the words again and I hope it lasts for a while. I’m truly happy to know this one holds meaning for you. There’s nothing quite like a stream to inspire the pondering of life’s mysteries, you know? I appreciate you so much and I’m always glad to see you visit, my friend! 😊

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    1. Kindest thanks, Darlene. I love the way you’ve described this poem: “as if the elderly person is seeing things through the eyes of a child.” That’s so inspiring. I really can’t think of anything more profoundly inspiring than nature. May each of us have a stream and a willow where we can sit and ponder life’s mysteries! 😊

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    1. Many thanks, Xenia. I know in my heart that you can identify with the magic and beauty of streams. The streams you’ve featured on your blogs are so beautiful and meaningful. You’re fortunate to live so close to such inspirational natural wonders. I’ve sat by streams (and oceans and lakes and waterfalls and rivers) and pondered life and its mysteries. There’s something rejuvenating and calming about moving water. I’m happy to know this one resonated with you, my friend. Here’s wishing you and Bria many more delightful and contemplative streamside strolls. 😊

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    1. Thanks so much, Michele. This is very kind of you. Though our lives may end, the stream of life continues on. I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to nature, so this poem was a joy to write. I’m truly grateful for your wonderful support. I glad this one touched you, my friend. It’s always a pleasure to see you stop by. 😊

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  13. Truly lovely, Mike! I love that you and the creek are having a conversation and the imagery is (as always) amazing. You’ve brought your readers to the creek bank to sit under the willow. You have a gift, my friend, thanks for sharing it with us!

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    1. Thanks, Peggy. I’m glad you liked this one. While it has some elements of sorrow, there’s a lot of hope to this poem as well. There’s always a place reserved for you by the stream beneath the willow. Don’t forget your picnic basket! 🍜 (I couldn’t find a picnic basket emoji so here’s a bowl of ramen instead.) 😀

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    1. Thanks, Kirsten. I really appreciate your kind words and I’m delighted to know you enjoyed this one. By the way, there’s plenty of room here on the stream bank under the willow, so pull up a chair! 😊🌳

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  17. I loved this poem, Mike. It has some sorrowful undertones, but it is so hopeful and evocative. You keep reinforcing, and searching within as the poetry unfurls in sweeping language, and it makes the heart leap as memories are triggered. There is a poignancy to it, a doleful melody that still makes one smile. I’m loving that you have hit that groove again bro. This is the good stuff. The stuff you’ve been hiding away for special guests. 👏👏👌

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    1. Thanks, Nigel. I’ve been unable to write anything new for eight months. Man, this stretch of writer’s block has been frustrating. The other night, while ruminating on this, I thought, what if I revisit my haiku and senryu (I have 360 of them on my blog) and see if I can simply expand on a few of them, flesh them out into full-length poems? My haiku and senryu are little kernels of inspiration, small batteries that might just carry enough charge to power the ol’ poetry dynamo. So, I gave it a shot and I’ve been able to write again (four new poems this week), and it feels pretty good. I just need to make sure I choose a varied selection to work with so I don’t end up writing about the same themes over and over.

      I value your insights and support, amigo. I can’t tell you how important it is to me. Your encouragement is golden. I had fun with this poem. Man, those words were flowing like they did in the past. I was just along for the ride! 😀 I’m glad this one resonated with you. I appreciate you, my friend. 😊

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      1. I never thrown away any of my writing..they call it a scrap heap..it’s more like untouched gold for me. I’m truly happy you found some inspiration. No greater feeling that being in that creative flow man. You’ve made me smile today. 👏👏

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  18. So beautiful, Mike. I love the gentleness of this one, the communion with the kitsune and the peaceful presence and gifts of the earth. This one feels different from a lot of your other pieces – perhaps a bit of contentment overlaying the resigned reflection. Your imagery is sublime.

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    1. Thanks, Diana. There’s some sorrow here, for sure, but I really like the notion of spending what time we have left with those we love. According to statistics, my life is officially 80% over. I’ll be lucky if I have fifteen years remaining. As we age, we’re forced to confront the specter of our own mortality. The narrator of this poem recognizes the metaphor of the stream of life, how it continues long after we’re gone. Making peace with life helps us to begin living, no matter our age, regardless of how much or little time is allotted us.

      I based this poem on one of my early haiku, and both reference my “haiku place.” (I mention this place in the comments section of that post.) It’s an imaginary, contemplative place where I go to write my poetry. It is at times calming, idyllic, sorrowful and brutal, but such is life. It’s helping me break through this current writer’s block–using my own haiku to inspire full-length poems–and it’s been a real blessing which I hope continues apace.

      Thanks as always for your kind support, my friend. It’s always a pleasure to have you stop by.  😊🌳🦊

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      1. I’m about 80% cooked too, Mike. :-) Aging certainly changes our perspectives and making peace with my mortality, for me, is comforting. Fighting against an inevitable end feels a bit quixotic. I like the idea that while we get to experience this incredibly human thing called “self” consciousness, we are also a part of this vast universal unfolding and hardly matter at all – a sparkle of sunlight on you stream.

        It sounds like you can find your muse in your “haiku” place. I imagine her waiting there for you to join her. I hope you continue to find inspiration there. Hugs, my friend.

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  19. This is gorgeous and calming, Mike. I felt like I was sitting right there under the willow beside the stream listening to your conversation. Again, your imagery is outstanding, drawing the reader vividly into the lovely scene. What a perfect poem to end my work week. Just beautiful, my friend. ❤️

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    1. Many thanks, Lauren. It’s a bit (actually a LOT) more hopeful than most of my work, and it was a joy to sit beneath that willow and chat with my friend, the stream. I don’t mind being “the depressing poetry dude,” really–I’ve accepted that mantle and wear it with no shame or regrets–but it’s refreshing to be able to write something a little more cheerful now and then. Getting older makes us reevaluate everything in our lives (hopefully–I worry about those who can’t or won’t learn from the past), and I think ideally the end result of such honest contemplation can be a renewal of hope, an invigoration of both heart and soul, and a deepening of kindness and compassion. At least, that’s my hope. 

      I appreciate your constant support, dear friend. And remember, there’s always a place for you beneath the willow by the stream. 😊🌳

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      1. I think we need to write about anything that moves us, Mike, because no matter what, I feel that our words are going to resonate. But I understand about learning from the past and gaining a renewal of hope. And I agree, as I get older, I contemplate often. And I’ll be there by the willow and stream soon! 🙂 Hugs!

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  20. Ellie Carpenter's avatar Ellie Thompson

    Such a beautiful and wondrous poem, Mike. I’m so happy for you that you’ve broken through your writer’s block at last. I know how frustrated you were about that. I totally understand that one.

    I could visualise every word as if they were happening right before me. I’ve always been passionate about nature and am fortunate enough to have a river at the bottom of my road. However, it has nothing of the grace of your stream, as I live in a big city, and the poor river is choked with mud and careless people’s rubbish. It used to have fish in, but it has been a long time since I have seen any in there. Thank you for lighting up my otherwise difficult week, Mike. X

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    1. Kindest thanks, dear Ellie. It certainly has been refreshing to have my muse back (she’s so fickle–I hope she stays for a while!). Your words are so kind and I appreciate your comment. I’m pleased to know this poem connected with you. Generally, my work is melancholy at best and downright depressing at worst, so writing something hopeful was a nice surprise. I’m sorry to hear about the condition of the river near your house. It’s a terrible commentary on the carelessness and neglect of the human species. The nearest river or stream to where I currently live is ten miles away in the tiny town of Dolores, Colorado. I lived in Dolores a couple of times in the past and really loved the small town sensibility (there’s only about 900 people), and I loved walking the path by the river. The stream in this poem is based on an imaginary place I hold in my heart (mentioned above in my reply to Diana) and it’s my vision of an idyllic Japanese countryside locale where I go (in my mind) to write poetry. I hope someone is able to reverse the damage to your river. Nature matters, and our own physical and mental heath depend on nature’s health. 

      Thanks again, Ellie, for such a kind and thoughtful comment. I appreciate your stopping by. I know things are rough for you right now, so it makes your visit all the more delightful. Please, rest a spell beneath the willow by the stream, won’t you? It’s peaceful and quiet, and there’s plenty of shade. 😊🌳

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  22. I love this beautiful uplifting poem, Mike with the sweetness and depth of the little one. I was swept away to our lake house reeds where they home so many wonderful critters. It made me yearn to go back and visit soon, Superb imagery so well done❣️❤️

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    1. Kindest thanks, Cindy. I had fun with this one. There’s some sorrow, but plenty of hope and compassion, too. Every once in a while I can break my mold and write something uplifting. So happy you enjoyed this one. I hope you can visit your lake house soon. 😊

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    1. Thanks a bunch, Dawn. I love vivid imagery in poetry. I was involved in nature photography for several years and there’s a definite carry-over from my time in nature with my camera. Nature offers a metaphor for just about everything we can experience in our lives. This was a lot of fun to write. I’m happy to know it spoke to you. 😊

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  24. “koi kitsune dragonfly”
    I think as you’ve become my favorite wordpress peer ( if you can call me that lol) I always find myself fumbling to words that captivate your writing. You’re so very inspired. Your imagery protrudes like ignition visions that are never lacking. Seeing places I’ve never seen before in your mind, from your mind. As my own writing career is in ramshamble starts, I’ve come to be very inspired always checking up on what’s new. Your comments shed so much light on who Mike U. is and who the Silent Pariah the writer is. I perceive it that way, please do so correct me if I’m wrong. Nevertheless, I find it very admiring. Glad to see that writer’s block has stifled a bit on the strength of its wrists, and your muse is musing for you. Congrats on all your recent success you’ve shared with us, as well!!

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    1. Sam, my friend, this a beautiful comment, and I’m truly touched by your words. It’s been a rough patch these past few months with so many worries and fears regarding my own future as well as the future of my country and the world. The creative tap had been not only turned off but welded shut. I’m not sure why the words have begun to flow this past week, but I’m grateful for it. And you’re right: what you see in my poetry and comments is really who I am. I sometimes think I share too much of myself, but this is what comes out when I open up to people. I’ve always sort of felt the need to explain things rather than give a curt “Thank you” when someone compliments my work as I want to make the reader’s experience as full and welcoming as possible (and this is coming from an extremely introverted, reclusive person). If I can brighten the day of even one person, assuage the sense of loneliness someone is experiencing, I feel as though I have a purpose. So, I ramble on and hope for the best! 😄

      I’m glad I can take you on these little trips into my own world, share my experiences with you, introduce you to my friends koi, kistune and dragonfly (and many others) as I visit my haiku place. While this imaginary place is so very personal to me, filled with my deepest emotions, dreams, regrets, hopes and fears, it’s also a place of sharing, a stop along that mountain path for anyone who needs respite from the weight of the world. You’re always welcome here, and there’s a place reserved beneath the willow by the stream just for you.  🌳

      I’m a great admirer of your writing, too, and I feel as though your pieces are little adventures that call the reader to join in. You’re incredibly talented, Sam, and it’s a joy to read you. This WordPress community is home to not only some exemplary writers, but wonderful people, too. I’m glad you’re a part of it, my friend. 

      Thanks again for such a thoughtful comment. It means a lot to me, and I value your kindness and support. I appreciate you. 😊

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      1. I’m truly touched, Mike. Even now I’m baffled and left mumbling trying to figure out a way to express my own admiration and appreciation of you and your writing. I read your interview and it was enlightening. Only ten years and change writing poetry. Soulful and captivating. About the same time, under different circumstances did I try to establish that dream under woeful sentiments that were not encouraged. Called it “journaling” instead of writing and dreadfully avoided calling myself a poet unless I made a jokey-joke because I didn’t know it in inundated exospheric ramblings (if you catch my drift ;)) Nevertheless, I decided to pursue it professionally after many fudging ups of other interests and vain adherences to becoming a model citizen and motivated young adult, instead of you know, a writer (haha).

        I started my blog only recently in December after getting tired of my old but recent tune of fudging up. There are many wonderful, talented, exemplary writers in the WordPress community; I have to agree. Though, yours was the first to hit me. Make me gaze in wonderment like the first time I read “The City in the Sea” by Edgar Allan Poe. Young, stupid, with all the potential in the world and not a mere speck of focus to prioritize just one thing. That’s what started me off though. It took over a decade to realize I love the same passions I loved when I was young. I wasn’t stupid to look back, and it wasn’t about growing up. It was about moving forward, thoughtfully. I’ve accepted I have to write not because it’s interesting, but it’s the grandest coping mechanism I’ve come across. I’m proud for taking this step and releasing my pieces instead of holding steadfast in journals that collect dust and documents that anger me to see how much time has passed and what I could’ve honed in the mean time. One day, I’ll be proud of my writing too. Though your kind puro puro puro words, make me take a step back and gaze at my own progress and most notably, credibility.

        I think I swing like a metronome as far as curt “Thank you’s” and explaining myself, as I am now.

        I have to admit your writing has inspired me to push myself further and explore more boundaries, and ultimately break them until I see a horizon I’ve never witnessed before.

        Thank you for that, Mike.

        Weeping Willows happen to be my favorite tree as well. It always smells like petrichor even if the stream has ran dry. Which means it never really did, anyways. When one sense is lacking, all the others are invigorated. Even for a deaf man, I can hear the music in your writing all the way over here on the coast. Must be one long stream 🙂

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    2. You’re very kind, Sam. I hesitate to call myself a poet, too. It feels awkward in a strange way, as though if I were to claim that mantle, it would be whisked away without a moment’s notice. So, I usually just say, “Um…I like to write…” 😄 (I dig self-deprecating humor.) But yes, it’s crucial for me to write. I feel lost, adrift, without it. Thank you for reading the interview, too. It was a fun, unexpected experience. I was allowed to ramble on about writing, and that’s my definition of a good day. 

      You wrote, “Young, stupid, with all the potential in the world and not a mere speck of focus to prioritize just one thing.” This sounds like me in my youth. My exuberance and desire were countered by my scattershot mind, guaranteeing nothing I attempted would ever bear fruit. A crippling fear of rejection ended my fiction-writing career before it even began, and as mentioned in the interview, I gave up. I wish I hadn’t, but I did. Never thought I’d write again (poetry? are you kidding me?), but I did. It feels a little like a reprieve, a second chance, and I’m glad I was bold enough and grounded enough (and experienced enough) this time around to take that chance. We all deserve second chances.

      “I’ve accepted I have to write not because it’s interesting, but it’s the grandest coping mechanism I’ve come across.” This, exactly. Without writing, I wouldn’t know who I am or who I could ever possibly become. Which is why it’s so scary when it goes away.

      I’m humbled to know my writing inspires you. This is the highest praise any writer can receive. Thank you for this, Sam. It means s lot to me. 😊 May your boundaries crumble and new horizons invite you to explore and create new adventures!

      As for willows, in the past I lived in a small town ten miles away. A river runs through this town, and it’s lined with many willows. I still remember the incense of willow and stream wafting all these years later. It’s rejuvenating, intoxicating. You’ve chosen a wonderful tree for your favorite. 🌳

      “Even for a deaf man, I can hear the music in your writing all the way over here on the coast. Must be one long stream.” One long, meandering, wonderful stream that connects us all. Thank you for these thoughtful words, my friend. I appreciate you. 😊

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      1. I still struggle with being a writer and self-proclaiming in conversation when someone asks what I do for work and I just say “I’m a writer” (now, at least). All the years when I’d coach on in parried secrecy that writing is my dream and my greatest wish to pursue as a professional. Usually I get like “You should totally make a website then!!” Only for my face to look something between these lil friends here 🫥😶🫣 when I go “I have one.” and Keyser Soze the conversation in a direction that had absolutely nothing to do with me. Even when I was doing it, I didn’t believe I was doing it.

        When I was growing up due to cultural obligations, I was very much pressured to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer or the backhanded next generation of Marine, just the first female Marine. I quit on my education while I learned to handle myself and my health failed to the point I wouldn’t qualify in really any branch of service, probably not even the reserves or national guard even. Which was heartbreaking as all those careers were definitely dreams, not just interests at one point.

        In school, it was pleased to say that I was formidable at writing from a teacher’s perspective. Creative writing and fiction was just not my jam. I didn’t see myself as a creative and I thought I sucked at art because it was abstract and took too long for all my layers to find an image in my scribbles and shading. So I just knocked the idea of being a creative easily out of my mind because creativity wasn’t nourished or respected in my household or really life. It was just cute. I hate to think others think whatever special interest or current hyperfixation is just cute. It was shelved. Reading books was always just fine, and it was accepted I’m a nerd and a dorky one at that, that’s worn glasses since the dawn of time. Whatever.

        My first loves really were math and science though in quintessential nerddom. When life gave no reason and logic was a myth, I held onto my numbers. Something that couldn’t be fought. I got all the way up to calculus and baby quantum physics, pushing my depths and memorizing formulaic theorems, even pushing them into applicated education in my personal life because I was so fond of feeling concrete. Then I realized integers were clouds and any point could be plotted differently depending on perspective of the scale. So I threw that away too and just kept cross multiplication theorem for making coffee and a hefty load of vain cynical tax deductions I learned before I could even file taxes.

        The only writing I really enjoyed was essays. Later this turned into my greatest immersion therapy as I took up a public speaking class and entered many a many essay and speech contests, bees, academic derbies, and orchestral competitions. My communication style and self esteem were not able to represent themselves, though I could deliver my cold hard facts and my cold hard regurgitated (even when applicated) knowledge easily in my characteristically single episode depressive monotone without a soul linguistic diction that I was pretty well known for when I wasn’t silent before my 20s and I turned things around a bit.

        I thought the only writing I’d ever accomplish would be fed by a lifetime of academia. Writing abstracts because no one else wants to, policies and procedures, always imagining what topic would be my thesis for my psy.d I craved it with all my might, even after I left school. Idea journals just in case it stayed original in the meantime until I would accomplish a degree or the dream of a doctorate.

        So when education exploited my diversity candidate test scores for a new computer lab, gym, jerseys for the football team, or wing for a grade I wasn’t even in while I was breathing in black mold with no ac hanging onto my viola in a forgotten part of campus, my only real joy left from public education – I turned my back on them. Even being told by my principal and superintendent that the school board voted not to allow me to skip grades but gave me extra packets for highschool and college credits before I even hit teenhood because “my presence, test scores, and cultural background was needed at the school and it would be selfish to withhold my educational grasp for receiving grants and funding for the sake of the staff and every other student at the school.” A lifetime of perfect attendance only inundated by bereavement and whatever the hell the Marine Corp told us to go on a dime. I started skipping. I never finished. Then went and did what every other low-life, deadbeat, and dropout does and took over care of the home after my parents gave up on that role when I wasn’t lying in some hospital bed.

        Even with my lack of formal education, I never stopped learning. I still studied and with the internet I learned anything and everything I needed to. Always hiding. Slick as a whip at interviews. Easy job promotions and grown-up jobs I had zero credentials for. Killed it anyways. None of it made me happy though.

        I’ve learned recently that it’s not what you’re good at, it’s what makes you substantial. Gives ground to the weightless. This can only lead to fulfillment even if it means ripping my heart out by the capillaries and distressing my brain to the point it sounds like an overheated cpu and that exhaust fan is just trying its damned best to cool it down. Eventually, I do cool down. Possibly even freeze. Though ultimately, I am soothed.

        So I looked back and realized my first happiness and favorite childhood moments was just reading. My Beverly Clearly, Andrew Clements, Nancy Drews, and Agatha Christie novels. I legged up to anything Orwellian in nature and lived by will in my own little Twilight Zone. Then I remember reading Poe, Emily Dickinson, Maya Angelou, Walt Whitman, even those a**hole Wordsworth and Shakespeare. It was escapism sure, a crutch too, but it seemed to work out for me.

        Reading poetry was the first inkling of not “I could do that” it was “I want to do that and I desperately want to try but no one must know because if I fail, I must abandon the procedure and never ever come back or acknowledge that phase existed.” Thankfully healing has nourished my self worth and my atelophobia is not crippling anymore, but my greatest strength. All my failures, all my giving up, all my abandonment and secret foretales into being reunited with my lovely passions led me to doing what I love. Not what others want me to do. Not what they think I’d be so good at or was or are so good at.

        After looking for something that was all to my own, and so lovely, and so pure in its dastardly, morbid, cynical, misanthropic, and even macabre ways; I found it. I knew I found it the moment I felt it like love at first glimpse of the first word on the page. I loved and treasured it so deeply, I held it quietly. More the back of my neck with hair down, than the back of my hand. Even if I knew it all the same.

        Being in the WordPress community has been a thoughtful, enlightening experience. I found other writers. I have found those that have faced adversity and this is the calling to dispel all woes and nourish passions. It’s truly beautiful to see it, Mike 😌

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      2. Also, I live by an assortment of mostly cedar trees, longleaf pines, with a blue hydrangea bush outside my window and dying gardenias that still fragrant the air. The roses aren’t very loved, but those aren’t the flowers I love anyways. Sometimes the purple iris blooms amongst the tangles of ivy and slowly rotting wooden trellis and bench swing. Only every few years it seems. The cardinals are representative of my locale. I see them everyday along with hawks, bluejays, and an almost darwinistic assortment of sparrows and finches. I saw a pretty rare pair today as I was reading through our comments to each other. Turtles, frogs, lizards, bunnies, and squirrels all over the damned place. Dragonflies, moths, butterflies, too many species of spiders that continually stress me out but I don’t have in my heart to dispel off. Even deers used to come out of hiding and tear up my garden for delicious three feet long chinese green beans. Pretty diverse for awkward suburbia. There’s even a stream next to my house, that’s really a ditch, but let’s call it a stream, but it connects to a river that connects to a major river and so on. I once had insights to move over to your part of the world. Closer to my native home that’s felt the most of a home in all my travels. You’re an impeccable photographer as well, it’s not just the lens capturing your insight into your beautiful world.

        If there’s a stream by my house and stream by you with my favorite trees, I can only wonder if any of these catch your own interest through the distance. I burn incense frequently, at that. I can only hope that you get even simplest whiff and know that I’ve found beauty in your world as I think you’ve found in mine. Let the zephyrs handle the rest 😊

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    3. Hey, Sam. Military expectations as a teen…sounds familiar. My dad pressured me to join the Air Force or Coast Guard simply because he’d wanted to join the Navy in high school but his parents wouldn’t co-sign for him. Even if I’d have wanted to join the military, my hearing loss would have kept me out.

      As a supremely insecure and self-loathing kid, I found a degree of self-confidence in wiriting once junior high rolled around. It was strange to think I was good at something, and considering my graduating class held only forty students, it’s not saying much, but it was my little island of confidence. I excelled in writing in high school (won some awards and scholarships) and freshman year of college, then the real world knocked me on my backside once I began submitting my fiction. Yeah, perspective squarely readjusted, and humility restored. And twenty years of nothingness followed.

      I was a “dorky nerd,” too—chess club, science fairs and seminars, considered pursing anything from physics to astrophysics to biology in college. Played sports to balance things out. I struggled in math, though. Algebra grades were middling and concepts bounced off the walls of my mind; nothing stuck. Geometry was worse. I was efficient at making everything as inefficient as possible in geometry and my teacher would pull out what remained of his hair in frustration trying to get through to to me. I can’t think linearly to save my life. Found out in college just what a difference a good math teacher can make after pulling a A in college algebra (yay).

      “I’ve learned recently that it’s not what you’re good at, it’s what makes you substantial. Gives ground to the weightless. This can only lead to fulfillment…” This is profound. 

      I understand the concept of crippling perfectionism. So many things I never attempted due to fear of making even the smallest mistake. Best to not even try, my mind would say, so I didn’t try. Missed out on so much, too.

      As for poetry, back then it was “Meh, it’s for girls, all that squishy romantic stuff.” First poem I ever wrote was in A.P. English my senior year of high school. I wrote about an electric guitar. I came up with what I thought was an interesting rhyme and meter scheme. It was awarded an honorable mention in an annual literary anthology sponsored by New Mexico State University that published the writing of high school seniors from across the western U.S. (I was in Utah). I mean, it was fun to be recognized, but I never thought about writing anymore poetry after that. My aim was to become a novelist.

      Your immediate self-described “awkward suburbia” sounds rather blissful. Nature is a balm for my soul, for sure. I have a sort of disturbing poem describing the farm on which I was raised (at least, how it appears in my mind, given all that occurred there during my childhood and even some of my adult years). As much as I love nature, that place feels haunted to me, so my descriptions reflected that. You’re welcome to check it out if you’d like. (My “Reprise Series” was simply a handful of reposts of earlier poems to help fill in the gap during my months-long fallow period of writer’s block; this was one of them.)

      And as for streams—both water and incense—I believe they all come together at some point. May the nearby Dolores River and its many willows merge with your world today. 😊

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      1. Hey there, Mike,

        Yeeaahh, military expectations can definitely suck. My dad is a 4th generation marine and as my brothers and sister… just did not display the innate calling to be a service member, even if they had interests and my oldest brother talked to Navy and Air Force recruiters; I was pretty much left the defacto option to initiate the 5th generation and first female service member in the lineage. I’ve done some research and at this point I’m reaching closure that I don’t believe the Marine Corp is the branch that would service and nourish my own needs, potential, and talent. My dad keeps bringing up how the recruitment regulations have shifted and become more open especially towards women and late-joiners in the Navy (they upped it to 40, how crazy?? You could have a whole career and catch a whole other career before you hit age for social security) Space Force keeps dogging my mind but I haven’t researched recruitment regulations and applications myself out of fear of disappointment being multi-disabled and what’s documented and what’s not that I could… sneak my lil way into some branch. Either way, back-pocket bluesy dreams are one of my talents. When there’s a will, there’s a way; and the will of writing has a chokehold on me currently.

        I think the 6th grade is when I started seriously thinking about what careers I was interested in. I had a different career each year I thought would be cool, whatever held my attention long enough. Astrophysics was the main theme and the reboot of Cosmos with Neil DeGrasse Tyson certainly nurtured this epithet that I could not only gaze and chase stars, but study them too one day. Forensic Anthropology was another as I’m obsessed with cultural migration, and this seemed a good route to study with funding, as well. I had a lot of cop-out careers too like veterinarian, anesthesiologist, hair colorist, phlebotomist… somehow trying to bridge a gap between financials and seek education without disposing myself to what seems like a lifetime of essays to seek scholarships and grants to leg up to what was my “map dream” and my “passion dream.”

        My map dream was to be a Forensic Psychologist. A double major in Criminology and Abnormal Psychology and work my way up to a J.D. and Psy.d (definitely not a Ph.d, I have a reason why for my preference lol). I wanted to work every sect of the realm to advocate and push the boundaries of a system that failed and neglected me so. Call it karma-earned-for-closure. It’s ironic I became a DV/SA/HT Advocate briefly. When that happened I wanted to leg up into Social Work while I earned my degree and diver the meander back on track. It was funny being on the other side of the table for once, that it validated how much I learned while I was in and out of the system in my life. It felt good knowing I learned from the hard stuff, that I could move my optimism into healing for not just my lonesome self, but many others. It’s still a dream, I haven’t tied it off yet.

        So writing here, is my passion dream. I seem to be the loser that doesn’t want to work in careers that make money or at least what seems enough. I always think back to an Alan Jackson song I’d listen to during a very difficult transition period in my life “Livin’ on Love.” Somehow 7 year old Sam, still keeps it ringing. I used to get empty when I’d listen during my woes. Now it makes me happy in its little rattle, and I haven’t played that song in years, but it echoes and I can really hear it.

        Besides my avid love for reading that started early. Even the crappy stuff in free box bins and torn, weathered pages. My instinct knew to spot a diamond for less than a dime, or any mere schmeckel. I knew when my teacher presented “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe and “I’m Nobody! Who are you?” by Emily Dickinson – somehow my own dumbed down apathetic emotional lacking, saw a challenge. I saw a sport I could prove myself in that wasn’t handball or horse or four-square (P.E. is the only class I ever had to put in work towards to receive an A, sigh) My buried bottle of emotions that I was in denial for was broken long-term, was so envious of the captivation of these other lonesome creatures and their applicated despair circumvented into poetry, that lived more than a century before I came into existence and only received posthumous admiration inspired me so. My nuerodivergent self was gaining the nerve to grasp empathy instead of quiet, ear-aching, silence I mitigated myself down to in my “absolution of coping.” I got validation and closure on that too. Putting it into practice, even.

        Math, however… we all know the cliche. Asian kids are good at math. Though the Asian kids I thought were good at math, were scared of the math I was good at. I remember when I’d got caught stealing my younger brother’s homework so I could [sneakily] enhance my education and not be bored waiting until something caught my attention. I was in the 1st grade and my brother was in the 9th grade, I finished what I could but I saw those letters and I adamantly woke my older brother up who also received the -asian-kid-good-at-math- gene (even if I’m compelled to say, it comes from the Italian side actually, to set the rhythm right for even the ancestors to hear) and said “Show me, this.” in my scary for a two-foot-tall 6 year old girlish-girl self and ended up learning Pythagorean Theorem. Which was beautiful when I took highschool credit Algebra in the 7th grade. It was sore to know while I was still bored between minor entertainment of little tricks and challenges, and became more back-pocket tools (mostly for preparing for when I could start filing taxes per the CPA dreams that also came from the Italian side) I saw my class-mates with red faces and tears breaking down at their desk and felt the same crippling awkwardness of seeing my dad really do his best to try to tutor my sister that had no interest in any learning of life, especially traditional education. I gave up tutoring her years before with the stern statement “I refuse to teach someone that won’t try. I refuse to do it for you, but I’ll show you the way, but you can’t even sharpen your own pencil to write your name.” and revoked the option from parents to resort to me for aiding her in school. Even as my private tutoring business continued to grow as a kid. Then I got to Geometry and simplified my proofs so, that I was losing points when I displayed innovative efficiency that contradicted the answer key. Whateva, life goes on and I termed out and never finished my online classes after I left public school.

        It’s not what I want to do with my life, anyways.

        Writing has become a savior in my life. In my nagging desolation of lonesomeness and entertainment of “dolphining,” my health has improved. I love when it improves to the point I forget I’m disabled, I forget I’m sick. I got a good price for a handy, dandy new laptop that fits my needs perfectly even as she learns my crazed cornucopia of distraction tabs and other activities I’m turning into projects. I feel like a writer back on home row keys, now feeling so silly writing all my pieces on my phone (I’m going to go out on a limb and say 87% of my pieces were written on my phone directly into Jetpack app). I have more access, I have a new peer and friend.

        Life is good, and I chose the right fork in the road for me. I’ve got time.

        Sam 😌

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  25. This poem, Mike, is absolutely stunning!😮 It’s tender and filled with heartfelt goodness. The last stanza is particularly special! I have bookmarked this, just like many of your other poems, so I can keep returning to them.✨🌸

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    1. Thanks a bunch, Aaysid. Your kindness is so welcomed and cherished. I’m so glad to know my poems speak to you in such a way. Honestly, this makes me smile, my friend. Incredibly humbling. I appreciate you! 😊

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  26. When I was twenty two years old, Chief Joseph’s grandson Jim Martin gave me my Native American name, under which I still write today: “Daksina,” meaning in Nez Pierce “Beautiful Willow.”

    And it was the highlight of a leafy life to shelter, whisper to and witness your deep communion with the stream…

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    1. Thank you kindly, Ana. This is a beautiful, thoughtful comment. It must be a wonderful honor to be blessed with such a meaningful name. Willows are among my favorite trees. I lived in Dolores, Colorado a couple of different times over the years. The Dolores River runs through town, and it’s bordered by many willows. Every day I could inhale the incense of those willows and the scent of fresh river water. I miss that place.

      Thanks for stopping by, Ana, and also thanks for the indoor water fountain idea you mentioned in your other comment. I’ll look into it. 😊🌳

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  27. “with the universe
    every season has its end
    every leaf must fall
    Luna’s aspect silver-sheened
    cycles heavenward”

    Mike, your each poem is unique in its own way.. your expression is so wonderful, captivating and heart touching. I wish your work gets much recognition as it deserves 👍

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    1. Kindest thanks, Saima. Just knowing my words connect with you is the most wonderful feeling. You’ve been so kind in your support and it means more than you can imagine to me. Thank you, dear friend. 😊

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  28. Pingback: Stream Among the Reeds – Gobblers by Masticadores

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