Mistress of the woods and keeper of what’s real.
The hills behind her house are steep and alive with herbs and roots and mushrooms and moss, all at her fingertips.
MISTRESS OF THE WOODS BY RICH MOORE 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 103
She lives at the end
of a dead-end road,
high above the valley
on the edge
of a redwood grove.
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She’s an herbalist
a naturalist, and
a devoted believer
in all
that she practices.
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Her eyes are piercing,
bright and blue,
warm, open, and loving,
but they cut quickly through
nonsense and dishonesty.
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Her hair spills down
over her broad shoulders
in long, soft wavey strands
the color of dewy moist
coastal redwood bark.
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The hills behind her house
are steep and alive
with herbs and roots and
mushrooms and moss,
all at her fingertips.
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She forages daily,
barefoot in the woods
with her toes gripping
the soft earth of the understory
that nourishes her and the hillside.
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The plants speak to her
and she to them,
tacitly, tactilely
exchanging energy
and intentions.
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Thoughts flow through her
as gently and easily as the hilltop breeze
gives sway to the trees
that canopy her home
and absorb the shock of life in the valley below.
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Mistress of the woods
and keeper of what’s real,
she’s a modern Epicurean,
pursuing pleasure and
avoiding pain at will.
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Entering her world
you must play by her rules
no exceptions, no excuses,
no bad behavior
for the mistress controls.
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Her world is peaceful and quiet.
She solemnly takes stock,
closely observing but not judging
those around her, seeking the path
to their collective bliss.
RICH MOORE
I was writing short stories for the pleasure of the writing. None of them saw the light of day. I didn’t share them with anyone. Then something changed. My writing started bubbling up as narrative poetry. I have no idea why. At first, I fought it. I didn’t envision myself writing poetry nor did I want to. But my writing just kept coming out as narrative poetry. It was such a strong feeling that I just went with it. Then I started sharing my poetry with family and friends. Sharing it intensified my interest and increased my enjoyment.
I’m a diehard Midwesterner, having grown up in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Southeastern Ohio but now living in the San Francisco Bay Area. No surprise to me, my poetry clearly reflects my Midwestern roots and my journalism background. I was a newspaper reporter for about five years on the North Shore of Massachusetts, about 50 miles North of Boston. I loved it! I moved to Silicon Valley and shifted to marketing for technology companies.
I was inspired in my poetry a couple of years ago reading an obituary of the songwriter John Prine. He was quoted, “All you really need to do is just sit and look around you. You don’t have to make up stuff. If you just try to take down the bare description of what’s going on, and not try to over-describe something, then it leaves space for the reader or listener to fill in their experience with it, and they become a part of it.”