~ The Poet's Place Cafe~

	It’s not really a camp, merely a shelter made of logs,
	one of many along the Appalachian trail
	as it winds its way from Maine to Georgia.
	We’re just a couple of city dudes trying to get away--
	away from all the traffic, phones, and faxes.
 
	As we walk along the trail, the trees form a canopy
	with sunlight filtering down through the leaves,
	jogging memories of stained glass windows in a cathedral.
	We climb up on an outcropping of rock overlooking the valley 
	to behold autumn foliage covering the forest like flames of a wildfire.
 
	Winded after that climb, we decide to stop for the night.
	The old geezer at the fishing camp where we started
	said to watch out for bears and wildcats and such.
	The smirk on his wrinkled face said he was 
	just joshing a couple of tenderfoot hikers.
	Or was he?
 
	Dead wood for a fire and water from the stream
	serve for cooking a dehydrated meal from our backpacks.
	Then we curl up in the bedrolls and listen to
	the squirrels (and what else?) scurrying among the leaves
	until the music of the stream sings us to sleep.
 
	Morning greets us with the sight of breath floating from chilled lips.
	Bang the boots on the bench to knock off the frost.
	Thank God for long johns and thermal socks!
	After a breakfast of powdered milk and eggs, it’s time to start back.
	Tonight we’ll savor real food, a hot shower, 
	and a good night’s sleep in a soft bed with clean sheets!
 
                ~”Camp 39” by D. R. Schneider

A moment when the body comes to terms with that truth is known as a peak experience. These are usually moments associated with achieving some goal, when you feel the ecstasy of success or the agony of defeat.

                 The well was dry beside the door,
                 And so we went with pail and can
                 Across the field behind the house
                 To seek the brook if still it ran;
 
                 Not loth to have excuse to go,
                 Because the autumn eve was fair
                 (Though chill), because the fields were ours,
                 And by the brook our woods were there.
 
                 We ran as if to meet the moon
                 That slowly dawned behind the trees,
                 The barren boughs without the leaves,
                 Without the birds, without the breeze.
 
                 But once within the wood, we paused
                 Like gnomes that hid us from the moon, 
                 Ready to run to hiding new
                 With laughter when she found us soon.
 
                 Each laid on other a staying hand
                 To listen ere we dared to look,
                 And in the hush we joined to make
                 We heard, we knew we heard the brook.
 
                 A note as from a single place,
                 A slender tinkling fall that made
                 Now drops that floated on the pool
                 Like pearls, and now a silver blade.
 
                 ~”Going for Water” by Robert Frost

ASSIGNMENT: Make a list of 10 turning points in your life. Include both highs and lows. Contemplate what you have learned from each turning point. Draw upon your experience to express one of those truths in a poem. By “truth” I mean emotional truth, not factual truth. Feel free to alter the facts or invent entirely new ones that convey a singular idea to the reader without getting over sentimental.


Let the creativity flow from your soul!
Dave