Tag Archives: Connecticut

WIP excerpt: “The Archer”

With a loud snap, Jack stepped squarely on a dead branch just beneath the leaf litter.Tolan turned and spoke softly,

“Even the forest bison are quieter than you.”

Jack shrugged and waved a hand at an insect.

Tolan went on,

“If you wish to die today then continue without looking for where to put your feet first.”

Tolan waggled a long finger for emphasis,

“Walk as I do. Stop when I signal you to stop and move when I signal you to move.”

Jack nodded and leaned against a large red oak.

Tolan frowned.

“Did I say to lean against that tree?”

 “No.”

Tolan sighed.

“Surely the gods sent you as a test.”

© Erik Hansen 2017

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4-5-17

the steepness of the hill

leaves you out of breath

hands on knees

then clasped on top

your sweaty head

steam rising off and around you

mingling with the ground fog

breath of earth

beneath the oaks

the fox that watched 

your ascent 

slips quickly through 

the underbrush in silence.

© Erik Hansen 2017

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Four 24


The modern gypsies arrive

midday

to back- in and plug-in

set-up and wash-up

solar panels gleam 

in the afternoon light

capturing the moment

the sublime paradox

of their motley

four wheeled renaissance.
© Erik Hansen 2016

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Four 22

  
Grass grows up 

between sun bleached

ribs and pelvis

Leaf litter lays

obscured by its insistence

New days rise up

upon the bones of the past

rejoice

in your moment

before the moment has passed.

© Erik Hansen 2016

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Four 21

  
Sleeping dogs sunning

April sun shining
© Erik Hansen 2016

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Four 20

  

Crows’ chortle and quork
echoes through the pines

like laughter in a church
inviting us to take solace

in the forests’ serene majesty.

© Erik Hansen 2016

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Simulacrum

  
It sinks deep into your muddled

mind

late night, dream state

the pins and needles

of a sleeping limb,

tongue probing

for an absent tooth,

the chafe of the tether

pulled from your grasping

hands,

then reality stakes its claim

and upon waking you catch 

your breath,

seeking her scent upon the air,

stroking the sheets,

you find them cold.

© Erik Hansen 2016

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Four Eighteen

  

Frosted fields smoke

in the early April sun

Turkeys appear

like ghosts

the Tom’s gobbles

cut through the silence

and the hair prickles

at the nape of your neck

in anticipation.

© Erik Hansen 2016

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Four Seventeen

  
I remember holding her

so small 

so fragile

her cries were so soft

I determined to never let her go

Today is her eighteenth birthday

I made her crepes

her favorite

and we talk 

of what she might want to do

after college

God

I love her so much.
© Erik Hansen 2016

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4 Sixteen

  
Habitually herding hens;

chicken chasing champion.
© Erik Hansen 2016

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