rain soaked morning
warm clothes calling
© Erik Hansen 2016
Tag Archives: writer
Four Twelve
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
4-11
change is subtle
slow most times
less often it arrives
a cataclysm of words
people, places, things,
cutting like concertina wire
as you scramble over
cut, bloodied, tired
that tipping point reached
you run
slow over the muddy fields
and far away
to a place unseen
by human eyes
pristine, unspoiled,
clean,
without the water
to wash it all away.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Four 10
Egomaniacs eagerly eating
Pillowy Parisian pastries.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Four Nine
The murmur
of frog’s song
and duck’s babble
from the wet heart
of the swamp
reminds us
of the everlasting
change,
the triskele we see
in everything
If we look close enough.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Four Ate
The dust laden wind
across the high desert
cracks lips
and exposed skin
like baked mud
around the waterholes
slowly receding
green gems
in the red dirt.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
4 Seven
Protein drink explodes
upon the sidewalk;
tragedy comes
in many guises
this Thursday morning.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Four 5
Inuit see clearly
the aput
And the slow suffocation
accompanying it
if the wind could pierce it
you could breathe
the icy air
far away from
the bloody brush strokes
glistening upon the pack ice
left by the nattiq
dragged from their aglu
by the ever hungry
ever silent
ever searching Pihoqahiak.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Four Four
Cold bites downupon your bare neck
Spring seems in retreat
as the winds whip snow
across the smothered
grass.
Daffodils bow their heads
waiting for the sun
to warm it all away.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Four 3
Sudden Sunday snowfall;
slippery sidewalk surprise.
© Erik Hansen 2016
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Hunting
I have never felt so in tune with the natural world, so sure of my place and my part on our planet as when I find myself far from the road and the beaten path, hunting wild game.It is very difficult to relate this to others as the experience is profoundly personal and intrinsically spiritual.
Often I find myself able to relate to a fellow hunter and sometimes maybe, just maybe, I am able to relate the hunting experience to someone who is not.
When I find myself alone in the outdoors, at peace with myself, I see life beginning and ending and beginning again as it was always meant to be.
I see the autumn leaves blaze in the brightest sunlight and the stars of Orion’s belt poke through the blackest shroud of night.
Every sound, every smell and every sight is truly a gift.
I feel my God’s presence and love, nonjudgemental and unconditional, as it was always meant to be.
I walk into the outdoors with an overwhelming sense of gratitude each and every time and it never grows old.
My life is saved every time I enter the woods to go hunting, my soul belonging to the ritual.
As it was always meant to be.
10/9/15
Bradford, NH
Filed under Creative Writing, Writing
Edges 