Poem Hunting - Falkland - 11/10/13

(a poem hunt with my mum!)

Paths laden with possibility,
Hidden trail - leading where?!!
To deer and to mystery
Travel on fox-feet
So many secrets here all around...
Trampling through fallen leaves
Acorns awaiting their destiny
Where are we going? Where have we been?
Over stumps and bracken,
Into mystery of mind.
Crunch, crunch, crunch,
go our footsteps,
In search of skeletons.
Burrow - hidden secrets inside
Dry riverbeds reveal mushrooms
Peer deeply to see
Blocked paths - which way to go?
We follow our instincts
to find our way.

(c) 2013

Earth, Wind, Fire, Water

Every stone which tumbles
Across this fragile land
Reverberates for all to hear,
The planet turns daily in its grave
Hopeful that the cycle will end

Wildest of storms are summoned
Intent on being a wake up call
Nobody seems to listen
Deafened by all consuming thought

Forged in the passions of stars,
Intricate connections are born
Rebellion surges in the hearts of the few,
Encouragement that the slumber ends

Whirlpools gather to excite spirits
Apathy is an option long lost now
Thunder claps and sparks draw attention
Each occupant seeks higher ground
Regret is futile after the storm

(c) Caren  Gilbert

The Wisdom of Trees

The ancients await us
Hidden by verdant leaf
Ever patient, and ever hopeful.

We stride through woodlands
Intent on our destination
Searching always for the truths of life
Disappointment the only prize of that quest
Open hearted meandering beneath leafy boughs
Makes way for a knowingness to surface

Ordinary thought has no place amongst these roots,
Find your way to the tree which calls to you, and just sit

Temporarily suspend all other agenda
Recline against sturdy trunk and be still
Every tree awaits this precious communion,
Expectation hangs from every limb
Suspend disbelief and in that moment, ask for the wisdom of trees

(c) Caren Gilbert

Child of Nature

Curiosity draws me outside,
Hurrying becomes a forgotten habit
In the investigation of forest paths.
Lightest footstep is all that is needed for
Discoveries in the wild

Outdoor explorations rekindle childhood passions
For staring at clouds and hearing waves crash

Normal life seems dull
Alongside barefoot beach walks...
Time stretches to accommodate whims of diversion.
Universal energy surges through my senses
Reminding me of the power I though lost
Embracing my adventurous nature is the key to all I seek

(c) Caren Gilbert

Art of Mentoring

Blessings of community,

and the first falls prey to the land.

Why am I here?

Surrender to intention
Belong to the future
Expand to limitations
Open up to knowledge of self
Awaken ancestral wisdom,
from the unknown, unnamed place.

A burst of change to maintain our aliveness.

Learn to talk to trees,

and never forget how.
Meet yourself and learn to be alone.
Wait for things,
until you become present and peaceful.

Always leave a trail.

Hold time in your hand,

be the steward of yourself.

Find fantasy in the land,

and in your imagination.
Ignite passion with curiosity.
Cultivate aliveness to make peace in the world,
and your inner self.

Dragon bark and tree splinters nestle,

in myriad of bird green and water song.
 
The brave explore barefoot;
I do not.
I am neither barefoot, nor brave
 – yet.

I lay entranced by breeze and babble,

And footsteps of invisible ancestors.

And I ask;

Why am I here?

(c) Caren Gilbert

Poem Hunting - Loch Leven - 15/07/13

Motion
Lush sea of green
Swirling, wild, windy
Helicopter perspectives
Lack of wondering leads
to wordless disappointment
Unseen buzzard song
Questing quietly,
come visitors on wings
Ideas sparkle toward the horizon
Fleeting fortunes
Dashing, dancing dansers
Summer clouds, crowds scroll
Fly freely

(c) Caren Gilbert

Poem Hunting - Falkland - 13/07/13 (solo)

Time loses itself
amongst ancient trees,
the manicured disorder of newly tended grass
where buttercups wait patiently.
Land takes on new form and
the wind discovers new channels
through which to weave its stories,
caressing my ears with whispered promises
of the secrets of life.

The upside down tree, branches sunk far beneath me,
a reminder of the energy out of sight,
forgotten in the rush of every day.

A pause to connect and let sparks ignite,
buzzard-song reminders of a forgotten dance,
echoes of a rhythm stirred in the stopping,
seeds sown in each movement.
Babble and hoot guide the journey;
spiral, circle, arch, twist, entwine, channel, sweep,
explore, torrent...

Seek the depths.

Create community, entangle purpose, reflect,
find beauty,
contemplate.
Step boldly into the unknown,
get lost in its embrace.
Gather, inspire, discover, invite immersion,
roar, return.

Encourage joyful industry, float.
Look inward and outward in equal measure.
Collect, let anger flow.

Disrupt destruction.

(c) Caren Gilbert

Poem Hunting - Dunnington - 14/06/13

Wind-blown thoughts scatter,
sown across fields,
yearning to fly.
Songs of foreign words
intrigue our senses,
lost in translation.

A distant chatter
from a faraway world
of unknown things.
We know by heart
the call of nature.
The feel of solid ground
urging us ever onward,
toward hearth and home.

(Silenced by the storm)

(c) 2013

Poem Hunting - Falkland - 25/05/13

We stalk silence
with heavy feet
in wooded dells
where deer feast
between queued trees,
ordered rows sublime.
Silence is splintered
by misplaced feet
and bounding dogs.

A sense of belonging
among the trees,
spirits of nature
calling us deeper.
Weeping eyes watch,
tears bring us home.
Bird and tree-song,
name whispering leaves.
Squirrels furtive, unseen!
Reality evades view
           Hide and Seek.

(c) 2013

Poem Hunting - Lomond Hills - 25/5/13

An unrequited competition,
chasing silent shadows.
Cattle grazing unworriedly,
mystery bird perching,
straining our eyes;
revealing the unseen
beyond our lenses.
Reluctant poem hunter
words trapped inside,
birth is awaited.

Upon rocky crags,
tripping over syllables
stumbling across truth
~stories in silence~
Elusive murmur afar,
tightly curled fiddleheads
whispering to themselves.
Secrets stolen on treacherous breezes,
skittering stones underfoot.
The wanderers return.

(c) 2013

Poem Hunting - Falkland - 21/05/13

Weary trees, fallen,
sleeping in moss,
worries set free.
A peaceful slumber
of nature's making.
The bee's song
amongst green hues
and euphoric birdsong
calling spirit forth
to dance in silent spaces.