Inspired by his closest relationships, nature, and spirit, author Kevin Patrick wrote all of the poems in this collection in the beautiful and natural surroundings from Hope to Vancouver and throughout the picturesque Southern Gulf Islands. In Ten Tall Trees, Patrick offers a free-verse lyrical narrative that tells a story of lucid spiritual exploration and awakening of consciousness witnessed by the beauty of the changing seasons. In the title poem, "Ten Tall Trees" he observes nature's quiet resilience during the cold winter months. The selection "Season of Birthing" celebrates the uplifting energy of new life in springtime. Poems such as "Minuet" "Minoru Park" and "Mooji" address autumn and Patrick's burgeoning spiritual awareness together with his observations of modern pop culture. With a strong voice, perceptive observations, language play, and an affinity for the natural world, Patrick offers a poetry collection that gives insight into the balance of spirit with the human condition and the beauty of form merged with formlessness.
Ten Tall Trees
Poems
By Kevin PatrickiUniverse
Copyright © 2015 Kevin Patrick
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-6026-0Contents
Preface, xi,
Acknowledgments, xiii,
PART I,
1. Pen on Paper, 1,
2. I AM, 2,
3. The Song, 3,
4. We've Not Known Love, 5,
5. Old Man Reading There, 7,
6. So It Seemed, 8,
7. I Love You, Drew, 9,
8. Love the Ocean, 10,
PART II,
9. Behind Snow-Covered Mountains, 13,
10. Seed Below, 14,
11. Season of Birthing, 15,
12. Minoru Park, 16,
13. Fly, Butterfly, 18,
14. We Two Were Sunflowers, 19,
15. Minuet, 20,
16. Ten Tall Trees, 21,
PART III,
17. Deeper Meaning, 25,
18. Old Park Bench, 26,
19. Stalemate, 28,
20. In Love and War, 29,
21. Boundary Bay Love, 32,
22. Mooji, 33,
23. Elements, 39,
24. Epiphany, 40,
25. Ravenspeak, 42,
26. Topaz Musings, 43,
27. Into the Divine, 46,
28. June, 51,
29. May Day, 54,
30. I Still Tie My Own Shoelaces, 56,
SCARLET VERMILION: A TRILOGY OF SONNETS,
31. Red, 61,
32. Orange, 62,
33. Maroon, 63,
CHAPTER 1
Pen on Paper
I stared
at the translucent pen
for longer than what felt
like a normal amount of time.
Then
I picked it up
and held it high
above my head
to the natural light
shining through
the window.
And then suddenly
I could hear
the distant whisper of a voice
call to me.
"Let this be your light,"
it said ...
"Let them feel;
let them love."
I AM
You cannot see me,
touch me,
or feel me—
but I AM always with you.
I AM the morning sun that shines on your face,
the loving arms of a warm embrace,
the shedding of tears through the difficult years
and the caring hands that brushed them away.
From the reddish-yellow maple leaf
that gently falls in fall
to all things living,
both great and small,
I AM here.
Freely given
in you
and in everything,
I AM.
The Song
Lie back,
close your eyes,
and listen to the song—
the song that soothes
your weary nerves,
the song that sings
like the springtime birds.
Listen carefully
to the gentle chorus
of your heart's
drumbeat drumming ...
drumming the benevolent
sanguine sea
of spirit and love.
Let your mind
fly over clear seas
and golden valleys.
See the perfect sphere
of rainbow colors
penetrate puffy
white clouds
above
in endless sky.
See the snow-white swans fly
over tranquil lakes.
Listen to the song
that sings—
the song that beckons you
no matter who you are
or where you have been.
The song is calling to you,
summoning you
to live the life
you have always dreamed.
We've Not Known Love
We've not known love
till we've felt its loss.
It's the kind of loss
that takes its hold
on the fragile fabric
of hearts longing—
longing to reconcile
the irreconcilable.
Emptiness is the virus
that consumes our souls ...
emptiness that accompanies
the quivering lips
that can't find the words,
the invisible lump
in our throats that comes
and goes
like the sun's rays
on the cloudiest of days.
Guilt and innocence
play tug-of-war
with delicate nerves
that link
our hearts
and minds
together.
Where did I go wrong?
It wasn't my fault.
The beauty of nature
is not as beautiful
as it once was;
in the subtlest of ways,
we've not known love
till we've felt its loss.
Old Man Reading There
Here we are,
you and I
sharing this serene,
cozy space ...
Old man reading there,
I wonder what you are reading.
Grandfather? Widower?
Whatever your station
in life may
be,
our paths will likely not cross
again.
You could be mean, for all I know,
but somehow,
I do not think it so,
for you look so peaceful—
so utterly engaged with that book you hold there
in your aged, sunspotted hands.
I'll bet you have such stories to tell of
love, sadness, and joy.
So practical are you with your liquor-store bag full of
library books, your modest cane, and beige...