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There Is a Place

There Is a Place

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Published by bohdansirant5906

This is a poem about hiking to a special place in the wilderness that is imaginary and can be reached by meditation.

This is a poem about hiking to a special place in the wilderness that is imaginary and can be reached by meditation.

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Published by: bohdansirant5906 on Jan 02, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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There is a Place
by Bo Sirant, 2013(Dedicated to my dear friend, Dr. Aparajita “Mou” Deybiswas-Samuel)
There is a placeI love to goBut getting there isRather slowDriving past the urban sprawlPast the endless retail mallsPast the dazzling flashy showPast the towers all aglowPast stainless steel factory townsBuildings dressed in grey and brownWhere the metal products flowWhere shrill horns and whistles blowPast charming red-roofed barnsWith beaten weather-vanesPast dark abandoned farmsDown shady country lanesDown winding logging roadsPast dead prospectors’ abodesWhere their ghosts still yearnFor gold and silver motherloadsPast quaint trading postsSelling hand-made Native craftsPast tumble-down cabinsPast derelict mine shaftsAnd when I reachThe verdant boundaryOf the boreal forest seaThere is no hesitation No quandary No trepidation“Ho! Into the Wild I go!”Without reservationInto the awesome vastnessWhere giant firs growInto the cool stillnessWhere fast rivers flowInto the sacred silencewhere clean winds still blowFrom the trail headIt’s uphillAlmost all the wayAnd takes me hiking
All the dayPast the stridingRegal mooseAnd the honkingCanada GooseAnd past the feedingBurly bearsAnd sleeping foxesIn their lairsPast regal swans andBig black ducksPast martins and foxesPast wary woodchucksAnd through a canyonI must goWhere shamans carvedRock artLong agoAnd just whereIt’s narrow passage swells andJust whereIts tannined waters slowAnd whereIts grandest white pines growAnd just whenWheeling ravens cronk and croak And just whereBillowing clouds of fireflies glowAnd just whenThe West Wind begins to blowAnd just whereA beaver dam gives wayAnd just whenThe hemlocks start to swayAnd just where you seeAn ancient red ochre glyphAt the foot of a sheer green cliff And see a mighty troutSpeckled, silvery and stoutLeap high towardA lofty lookoutWhere you can shout“Hey!” “Ha!” or “Hello!”And hear the resounding echo“Hello!”“Ha!”
And “Hey!”Again and again“Hey!” “Ha!” and “Hello!”Fading awayFading far awayStill fading farther awayThat’s where and whenFrom my old canoeI shootA flaming arrowFar and trueAnd where it landsMarks the hidden trail--The Trail of NanabozhoThe trail of the world-wise warrior Vision-seeker Tale-teller Sage andMedicine manKeepers of the FireAnd “Knows More Woman”It is the Track of the HeartThe Path of the MidewiwinAnd when I reachIts radiant and splendid endAnd stand uponIts smoky pine-topped peak I’m struck with aweAnd cannot speak I build a signal fireAnd take a well-earned restAnd seek a spectral lakeToward the gleaming WestIt’s where theHealing waters flowWhere tomorrowSkinny-dippingI shall gladly goA jewel-like lake that’s fed bySinging silver streamsAnd watered byRomantic dreamsIt’s a placeyou too can findEven if stubbornly stuck Or out of dumb luck 

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