poetry and Nordic photography from my book ‘the dreamweavers tree’.

Mike Koontz
Jan 17 · 4 min read

On shores

And cliffs,

born a thought

You are

standing

still

With

toes and soul

Grounded

Thriving

Like twigs and leaves

Growing

ancient wild

Upon the bluff

of daytimes dampened

soil

here

we play

within

this changing garden

the sounds

and lights

there now lies

something

so enthralling

wrapped in marble

sweetest

subtle

like the ocean

fertile thoughts,

carnal

lust

desires, pleasured

Multiplied

matured and knowing

Life

it gives

firm unbound

peeled off knowledge

questions

rising, towards

the light

of your own eyes

ever

Pondered

why

it is

That within

this life

you

will

soon

call

this place

the void

tis

my home,

where I wait,

like a specter

Outside of time

standing guard

with owls

and five small ravens,

upon

the road,

The one of trees

And starry skies

that guide

you home

next

to the lynx

And wayward tavern

there we see

the burning light

of northern lands

dancing aurora

the worlds and light

that lies

beyond

Soon we clash

with furors sound

the vaults

that tower

with merging ships

and waves that ripple

slow

and light

across

the road,

our gap

becomes

the journey

through waves

and hills colliding

we kiss

and touch

the Northern lights

our mornings trail

Birds and bears

hearts and minds

made

brought forth

the light

that flail

like

we are

all, in fact

a congregation

of skybound wings

Attached

engaged

To and from

a world

of butterflies

and bumblebees

like nectar sweet

And pollen rising

upon the wind

slow

we walk

Where once I heard,

one day

plunged

descending

down

The antiquated past

Born forth

the whispers

of the universe

like a boat

floating wild

down the ether

we could hear

these few words

from

uninterrupted lines

of natures own decipher

and back and forth

Through time

And space

Organic changing

I found

myself

slow becoming

The night

and light

that was

hiding

seeking,

playing tag

between the cracks

of what you see

and

think you know

While from

this place

of black haired wings

at night

we

lucid feel

something quite

forlorn born

and majestically

like birds

Of feathers

the one that chirp

tomorrows

song

whispered slow

from within

the falling

of the snow,

so light and soft, warming cold

Against your senses,

there

is now

ice and water

Like tears

which play

a serenade

of drums

and joy

against these windows

Obscure, opaque, they hide protect

what prowls and dive

beneath your skin and what we call

our own soul

where voices

wait

to whisper slow

of words

and truths

still hard to see

but life long waiting

hibernating

Infinitely

your own truth

dwells within

From blood that boils

and strands of genetic DNA

Unchained, endless

Organic life

the life and death

of cycled streams

both fluid

Rigid,

explained by science

willed

continual

born

from thoughts

and light of matter

unending old

but always new

Each new world

still progressing

from growing plants

and changing forms

Deep below

the night and rise

Of daytimes brew

And so I write

This short note

my epistle

towards the start

and the end

I unending

boundless hope,

it might become

Your new beginning

of chapters old,

fray and new

lush and vivid

like the daisy

free forever

caught between

the end

of yesterday

and this notes morning

For this is life

the well worn strings

of branching paths

and momentary

points

duration

they box and sting

jab and grow

fuck, set free, restrain, arouse,

kiss

make up

with juxtaposing

dreams

from moments

small

thoughts and words

are born

connected

vacant free

unbound they soar

far beyond

Sundays

supper,

and now

these lines

will

speak

forever more

Of days to come

and wayward dreams

still slipping through

From what once

was

and soon will be

another

morning

where nothing

ever

stayed, yet slow combined, circled streams

evaluated

lifes design

roped

entwined

I catch your limbs

your every need

Caught between

the corners of the walls

the ones that hold

our changing box

Of colors blue

And shades of black

tied

with strings

chain and lace

we

still carve

these old things

newly made

from moonlights

gold

the daisies magic

until this

new

this

forlorn now

we live

and rise

again inside

the falling

of

the changing stars

This branching field

willed

to

change

Forever shrinking, always growing,

yet these strains

they remain

Our endless light

our winters day

and in fact,

all these worlds and branching paths

was once born

a changing pyre

of colliding

worlds and lights

the darkest matter

Living

deep

inside

of death

and life

and woodens day

with howls of wolves

and chirping birds

These old worlds

From

sol and måne

forever slow

still becomes

something new

and ever more

music of the day

requiem for a dying sun by Necrophobic

https://open.spotify.com/track/5rAmImEsOfoMRQlTmM2Zcw?si=CbIR77gsSlOkdmYyVxUleA

about the photo.

Just another good morning spent in the savage land and mystery of Scandinavia where ancient whispers rise each morning from the deep to greet farewell to måne.

the sultry female beauty of life and nature that lives forever, in the Vikings soil

beyond2c

From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

Mike Koontz

Written by

Author & Photography. PT, health & fitness. Science and sustainability advocate | aNorseView.com , Scandinavian.fitness.

beyond2c

beyond2c

From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

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