Tag Archives: Nature

Have you ever been alive? Curious Sensation isn’t it?


man steps over the couch, into the autumn wind, he is naked yet covered by his own nature…

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Albin Brunovsky

Title by: Marcel Mariën





Despite The Years Had Come


Today in the gardens of dawn, i spoke to a crow, an immense bear wore his crown and a bed of strawberries presented the colors of red, the unknown animals nursing the mouths of a much slower time, between the planets the lady of the elevator is resting upon a golden saddle, tugging like great continents—time and gravity, amongst the bones and the ghosts, the ashes retuned to the tree, the river rained with serious weight upon the mountains shoulder, i believe we are heading in a direction kind ‘sir’, Argentina hung its self in clocks, the great-bear hemorrhaged, the plastic virgin gave birth to a blind eye, what is so complicated, the thin line between the wood and the planed field, at noon they will decide, the strip mall will sell t-shirts with pictures of trees to benefit the amazon, butchering the smaller gods within, embarrassed by the stars, they fished for maze in boxes expecting a special prize, to give comfort for the ugliness we’ve become, I hope its a fucking mirror, revealing not the vanity of our youth, but the struggle that is the world around us trying to survive, us…

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by and words re-arranged with my own, from After Ikkyu and other poems, by Jim Harrison



The Shape Of Reality


Draw the line and the light will follow, shape peace in violent acts of serenity. Resurgent recovery, exposed in raw truth, induce a little death, before the burial release the pigeons. I read the news, it spoke of blame, fault and denial, the obituary said nothing. Rooted in ignorance fear grew wicked, embraced in solitude it burst into an astounding fire. Possessed by a phenomenon of world growing within and without boundary, of a power beyond control. Bent by it weight we gather what we can, to erect a story of its passage, to honor its awakening as our own. Draw the line and the light will follow.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Reuben Wu


Commingled Identities


The water is falling, all over itself, tumbling and turning. Some waters flow swiftly like deer down stream, others wash over the edge, into monastic pools for reflection. I stand asunder, engulfed in mystery, shrouded of my own reflection. To sense and orient, to serve a purpose by simply being a witness, a passenger. That nature has found us bewildered, if only our hearts would gather the wisdoms to feel its wealth, to learn to trust in its currents, to move freely with the sense of belonging to the paths that we must go upon.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Daily Overview


Resplendent Empathy


Rhythms peer out over the pulse, a hawks hood of feather, tracks of impression left indebted to follow. An edifying return, warm laps of wind, thinking not of thoughts, but rather in an exchange of inference, an inflection of speaking wisdoms embodied by the contours of the foots fall. Free from learned form, to slip gently back into the shadow, to swim out over the hill. Learn to walk slow, listen deeply. Beyond the pattern of the familiar is the groundswell of a breathing world. Such a delicate noose. Poets nurture their craft, to frame the word, the sound, the delicacy of knowing a moment, as it is lifted from the earth and sacrificed to the page. To try and gift some measure as to gleam in the reader’s eye, to awaken some ancient murmur still beating in the cords of the heart. As death comes swiftly for us all, but life is forgiving of borrowed time, as time can be slowed, if we are willing to walk within its pace, to venture into its pasture and lie withs its passage. Engrained in wood are truths evident in speaking, in stone, entombed memories of a shifting perspective. As light gathers behind tall mountains, to tell us a story of our long walk. Will it reside only in the distant flocks of memory, in the grazing stones, or will it blossom in the active imagination of a child. To walk backwards, but gain a forwarding momentum. Beyond the prison walls, a world awaits to be of its company. We are social beings, that have forgotten to invite ourselves over the threshold, to be a guest in this house, to give respect and to be beheld by its revery. Honor can only be bestowed on those that would listen before attempting to speak a language that has gifted its vital ear, its broken back, its breathing breathe, so that we may walk along its spine and bear witness to its story.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by: Dr. Martin Shaw, Scatterlings


Image by: Andreas Levers


To Be Claimed


Regional voice, take our praise, conscious of its centre. Time waves, shutters the current of lighted word, buried in bedlam. Deeply shaken, the wolf starves with warm blankets. The fire surveys the maps of men. Having begun to raise their heads, to look away, as the scythe rakes the warm blood, the beautiful plane, the subdued craft, bend the branch, ignore the root. The Elderflowers to wed the queen. Moon on water tracks the decent, a story of itself. Settling fragments, holy dusk, other worlds curve under deadwing. The flightless rage, cut from heavens cord, yet resonance whispers to be claimed by this place. Bound by ambition, funerals feasting on desire. Clarity is within the cloak of fog. To frame the words, they set the trap, forget its making. The hurling abyss, the footfall of dead wounds. To not remake the world in such a image, a reflection retained, this maddening gaze. To allow it to return, to takes its place as ours within this fold. To bow in reverence. Casting the circle to enshroud without boundary, know demarcations to signify an indifference. To attend with wanting ear, to hear stories rising from stone, to find true north.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by and some words found and rearranged from Dr.

Martin Shaw, Scatterings: Getting Claimed in the Age of Amnesia


Image by: Amanda Charchian