Tuesday, November 30th, 2010


Turkey Buzzard
by W.M Mason

I watch
from my sacred Box Elder
sister angel tree’s roots
into the earth
my sinking spine
connects in Mystery’s embrace
wormwood and yarrow dance
at my finger tips
Monarch caterpillars devour
bronze fennel
soaring red cedar caught
wings raised mid leap
straw strewn my bed
evening primrose 
by early morning breezes tickled
Newt the Nigerian pygmy goat
crops grass
as she grows her color
and patterns coming in
such blue
so clear
so clarified
the hidden thermals from my valley
attracts turkey buzzards
their circuitous ramblings
their effortless rising
& dropping so low
until the call of gravity
the up rushing earth
calls to them to move
to flap their outstretched wings
against the invisible they resist
believing because they have risen
they will rise again
and as each stroke of wing
etches their moment
as they are lifted
I watch in awe, in envy
that such a black and white creature
should have so much faith
living upon that which few others
will ever desire
content to meet
when meeting happens
content to roost
on what is near
never have I seen
a turkey buzzard alone for long
or heard one complain
their joy seems to come
from seeing that which
so few ever have time
or place to explore
their soaring realm
the raptors seem impatient
the song birds afraid
of such heights
and when they come close
to my meditation perch
flying close enough
that I can count their feathers
or see what they might clutch
within their taloned grip
offering my greeting
hello beauty
hello grace
as they pass on their way
to appointed rounds
so my morning begins
and as I rise lingering
the rooted sweetness
seems to follow
sending me off
from ancient memories
toward mystery still unfolding
my path so illuminated
rises up
meeting my feet…..




Tuesday, September 14th, 2010


I Have No Doubt
WM Mason

thru the shimmering heat
Summer insinuates herself
leaving the frozen fastness
of winter unimaginable
as tiger swallowtails 
follow trails invisible to irresistible nectar
the first monarch has joined the dance
as the last hollyhock has opened
the drunken throng
enamored of such bounty
regal fritillary form clouds of 
winged ecstasy
slippery curves of buddleia 
whose periwinkle 
holds tiny eyes
of brilliant oranges, reds, yellows
a carolina wren cracks open
the morning 
penetrating the sky
I have no doubt
even the Gods must pause
that a creature so small
could contain and spill 
such effortless radiant joy 
whose exultations
transport the mundane
unexpected songs of summer’s longing
my spine connected 
with the meandering feet
of my sacred sister angel tree
rooting me to this land
this knowing 
of rightness of place of timing
a pilgrim to the shrine
of red clay and flinty rock
veins of quartz 
shot through with the same iron
that patinates our blood
lowly lichen slowly dissolving boulders
ancient rounded volcano bones
remains of the naked struggles
of which our solid earth is formed
the nesting frenzy
of life itself
to become
to be formed
how far from feeling
our caged souls still run
leaving the spatters
of our wounds
a trail
for those who follow
and as twilight
silently devours 
the last whispers of day
hummingbird moths appear
all who will

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