Outpost Poetry

Closely Given

In the twilight of my longing,
there is a distant nation across a sea of change
with mages tic mountains, a pure sky.
I count on everything, the tall ladder,
the hard moment
a steady diet of nothingness coming from the monuments to history.

It all works pulling it above the head
Reaching with invisible fingers for the everything
A place of peace
A dream, longing to be remembered

Today I work on greening a nation.
Creating an agriculture of plenty
Inclusive and wide.

Leave the head behind,
The words
The language of little meaning

I work with what I do
The movement of hand riding the river to the sea

A life of work building a dream from what life has given
It is all energy and it is not enough to sit pondering its existence
It takes movement,
intentions moving in direct action
Climbing the tall ladder
The stairwell to uplift

What good are things given when they add up to bullets and barbed wire?
There has to be something greater.
A place to reach for, a unspoken language yet to emerge

The fence is everywhere
A huge veil so the eyes can not see.
I taste the oneness where my flesh extents beyond boundaries
A flesh of land, sea and sky

In a dream I followed my friend through the garden.
It opened wide and grew, connecting with other friends.
It was a march of hope right through the center of madness,
When all else had failed.

There is a answer rising from the distance
A bridge to build a life
A small river that runs through the center of all things.
It isn't about words.
It is about movement.
A steady flow toward something wonderful
Building greenscapes to treat the feet
Alignment with aliveness
Something living and complete.

Cornering in on a near high pitch
Now there is only an endless moment
moving through a space in time
The past is memory of personal movement
The future is threaded in what is done today
A continued cycle generating a flow
A connection that furthers the needs of the earth
Sustaining the greatness of our tomorrows

I work behind the barbed wire fences and security gates
A industrial nation built by man for invisible owners
Pipe racks and hard equipment, screaming loudness
Wearing the ears down
Permits and confine spaces, caution tape and danger
A days work adding up on paper money
A economy wired into limitation
A few here but not there

I am looking for green fields
The places of plenty where everyone enjoys the bounty
and nature is abundant
Flowing through the valley
The hill side, the coastal prairies
A forest as large as Texas stretching itself to the ocean
A 100,000 different types of trees and still the number does not come close.
More is everywhere.

The cup is filled and there is more if you ask.

Joe Nelson Icet
November 22, 2004

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