Post up your favorite wilderness poem.

Diomedes Industries

Diomedes Industries

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Mar 19, 2007
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I posted about a poem and got many great responses - I figured I might as well post up here.

Cut and past your favorite poem (if it is legal - if not perhaps a link) here.

If you have written one - by all means - post one up.

If you have a favorite Wilderness book - perhaps a passage would be cool.

TF
 
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening -- Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
 
hmm, not a poem per-say, but the last few lines from Nessmuks book.


"In a word, act coolly and rationally. So shall your outing be a delight in conception and the fulfillment thereof; while the memory of it shall come back to you in pleasant dreams, when legs and shoulders are too stiff and old for knapsack and rifle.
That is me. That is why I sit here tonight with the north wind and sleet rattling the one window of my little den, writing what I hope younger and stronger men will like to take into the woods with them and read. Not that I am so very old. The youngsters are still not anxious to buck against the muzzleloader in off-hand shooting. But, in common with a thousand other old graybeards, I feel that the fire, the fervor, the steel, that once carried me over the trail from dawn until dark, is dulled and deadened within me."
 
An original .

Birds keep flying
Across the river
Not one has ever come back

A fine land it must be
Across the river
I had to get a glimpse of that

So, I floated on a raft
Across the river
Hoping to never come back

I dreamed of wild boar
Across the river
And deer in mighty herds

But all I saw
Across the river
Was a million fu!*#g birds
 
"The flames sawed in the wind and the embers paled and deepened paled and deepened like the bloodbeat of some living thing eviscerate on the ground before them and they watched the fire which does contain within it something of men themselves inasmuch as they are less without it and are divided from their origins and are exiles. For each fire is all fires, the first and the last ever to be."

-Cormac McArthy, Blood Meridian
 
Here's one that, perhaps, many here can associate:

Robert Service:

"There is a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stand still.
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will,
They range the field and rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest,
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest".
 
Walking down the path I must stop for a pee.

So I picked myself out a dandy tree.

Little did I know it was home to some bees.

The swarm came on, it's time to flee.

So always take care in picking the tree you piss on

Or else be ready when you piss off the bees.




By me, wrote it oh about now. Pat
 
Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die

Basho

_________________________________________________
 
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In my first thirty years of life

I roamed hundreds and thousands of miles.

Walked by rivers through deep green grass

Entered cities of boiling red dust.

Tried drugs, but couldn't make Immortal;

Read books and wrote poems on history.

Today I'm back at Cold Mountain:

I'll sleep by the creek and purify my ears.
 
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I always liked this one, from the last scene of "A river runs through it"



"Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters. "

I can really relate to this, fly fishing being one of my favorite hobbies.:thumbup:
 
This by John Wayne while doing the Laugh In Show in the lat 60's
Roses are red
The grass is green
get off your butts
and join the Marines.

And then the Duke exited stage left and walked through a wall.:thumbup:
 
Please excuse my punctuation - Great thread - really got the old noodle to ponder.

________

There's a place I go whenever time permits
to smell the woods and watch the wind;
to hear the quiet whisper.

It is here I go even when I cannot.
It is here that my heart rests.
For a moment often within my mind
I find those hills to be
most all I ever wanted.

Title - "Old log road"
Squire Parsons III
----------------

Across the way just above the nole,
there's a shack from days gone by.
Those that had it, are all now gone
and only the old ones know their names.
Not much left but 3 walls of wood,
a blanket of leaves, a wreath of limbs
and a place to stoke a fire.
It lies just above the pond to the right
and it calls me.

Title- "What will I answer?"
Squire Parsons III
 
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The woods can be a bit strange.
It takes a long time to feel you belong
there and then you never again
really belong in town.

-Jim Harrison
 
Not a poem, but words of wisdom...

When you die, only three things will remain of you, since you will abandon all material things on the threshold of the Otherworld: what you have taught others, what you have created with your hands, and how much love you have spread. So learn more and more in order to teach wise, long-lasting values. Work more and more to leave the world things of great beauty. And Love, love, love people around you for the light of Love heals everything.

French Druid Triad, Francois Bourillon
 
Said a tiny ant to an elephant " mind how you tread in this clearing !"
But alas cruel fate , he was crushed by the weight of an elephant hard of hearing !!!!
 
I settled at Cold Mountain long ago,

Already it seems like years and years.

Freely drifting, I prowl the woods and streams

And linger watching things themselves.

Men don't get this far into the mountains,

White clouds gather and billow.

Thin grass does for a mattress,

The blue sky makes a good quilt.

Happy with a stone under head

Let heaven and earth go about their changes.

Poems from Han Shan
 
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