FIVE POEMS by RAYMOND STANTON
The Winter Trail
I slide on those battered ASICs made leaning off the side of my hammock swinging trail side.
The feel of warm wet socks from the day before slipping unwanted inside a frozen shoe.
With the crunch of snow and clanging of spikes, like a herd of turtles we go stomping down that trail.
To hell with the world out there, I put mine in a pack for my shoulders to bear.
Follow that blaze and see what we see, surely one of us will have to pee three times before those shoes unthaw.
But for the glory of the view and the vibe pushing through we walk on with wet feet to the beat where the beer and the burger dwell.
Rejoice in the hops and grease while the warmth brings want for that cold trail.
Away from the hustle of town and into the gloom of the snow covered pines to lay our heads in nylon and down filled dreams.
To wake in the cold morning with that aroma of coffee and isobutane burning off that frosty brow.
We linger in the warmth of the puffy quilts knowing it's back to the grind of life at the end of that trail.
Dirty Water
I sat and watched the river flow.
White puffy clouds rolled overhead.
A fish jumped, rippling the water.
"Damn I should be getting my pole wet," I said to the river.
The river doesn't care anyway, it just goes whether you eat her fruit or not.
I eat very little, truth be told, from that river.
Flowing chemical vomit water garnished with floating diaper bombs and glass shards lining sandy shores.
The fruit has gone bad.
Like a Beat Dog
Life's got me working like a beat dog these days.
All that time pissing in the wind when I was younger
Catching up to me now.
It's hotter than hell sitting here on this covered porch with no window to see or breath.
Inhaling cigarette tar and THC crystals as the eggs fry on the stove.
The wind does me no good when I'm spent on the weather.
Whether or not I become me again
Who knows these things
Just put on those shoes and toot that horn for 10 or 12.
All this plastic means nothing anyway.
Lingering Cloud
Look at the sky beyond those trees
Who cares why it's there
At night it's the glow of fear
And the stars are unaware
The owl hoots on a cold morning
I slept like a log with mangy hair
The coffee was made
And I lay in a stare
Across the way
I knew then and there
But now I reflect on time gone
That cold grey cloud teasing solitaire
But I knew I must return
I had to be everywhere
All the while that cloud lingered
And it will never be fair.
Sadness in the Manistee
My stomach turned on the brink of vomiting
Sound waves slapped my ears like tidal waves
The trees vibrated off the ground into the great sky
I asked the Wizard, "Why does everything leave?"
He said, "Wait. See what there is to be shown to you."
The Wizard carried his sack of sadness elsewhere among the trees
He said, "Wait. See what there is to be shown to you."
The Wizard carried his sack of sadness elsewhere among the trees
I sat with my arms hugging my legs, feeling the wind hug me like my mother once did
In fact, I was convinced it was her, and I embraced the love surrounding
I let it all out in that great Manistee dirt
The wizard was there to guide me to the belly of the truth
We had to face this together
I peeled myself off that dirt in search of that sad Wizard
No holding back for the world out there
Raymond Stanton is thirty-five living in a tin can in Indiana. Raymond works a bullshit job to pay bills. Most of their time is spent in the woods vibing with nature.