Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

   Growl Traveling solo in the Boundary Waters wilderness... A rugged and memorable route: first Hegman Lake and its 400 year-old pictographs, a mile-and-a-half portage to Angleworm Lake, then Home, Gull, Gun, Fairy, Boot, and Fourtown Lakes with short portages between, each with its own story to tell.  Here’s Fourtown’s... The rhythmic pull of the paddle,  Miles of lake and portage behind me. The setting sun’s reflected rays say It’s time to find the next campsite. Rounding a point just off-shore, Startled by a beaver crossing close by my bow. The smack of his tail sounded the alarm. Then a growl onshore, a few, pawed leg-lengths away, A throaty growl and a thrashing in the brush, A prowling growler who tried to catch the beaver. Power paddled to the far end of the lake. Set up my tent, made supper, and mused: Did I distract the growler so that he couldn’t catch the beaver? Or did the beaver distract the growler so that he didn’t go after me? Always liked the beaver before this, even

  The Grand Canyon Climb a mountain down into the Earth,        Follow the switchbacks down the great cleft.               At bottom the inexorable current of the river,                      The blue-green waters of the Colorado River.                               Water, of little substance but of epic power,                                      For here an eon of torrents cut rock asunder. The River speaks:        Enter the depths of your innermost self.                                                  Find there your true purpose.                                                        Live by it.                                                               Let the energy flow.                                                                       Your masterwork will manifest.                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

  Spirit In Red Ochre Here an ancient chapel that you enter by canoe... On Hegman Lake off the Echo Trail, paddle north to a narrows  Overhung by a rock bluff towering over the water, A dramatic headland covered by lichen and crowned by fir. Then you see it, a trinity of images, as wilderness travelers have for some 400 years: Drawn high on the rock wall, the Great Spirit with arms outstretched, The Giver of Life to the totemic animals below, the Great Moose and the Panther. Floating in the stone sky nearby, figures in canoes, the Ancestors.  Homage to Spirit portrayed in red ochre on a canvas of rock. 

  Mikka Bozu From the Japanese, “a three-day monk who can stick to nothing.” Tried weight loss Tried weight gain Tried white bread Tried whole grain Mikka Bozu am I Tried less caffeine Tried more caffeine Tried substitutes for the bean I try things on the fly Tried omnivore Tried carnivore Tried vegivore Even fruitivore Food fads are my pie Tried self-employed Tried employee Tried many ways to make do-re-mi A job-holder temporary Tried big bucks Tried totally broke Tried lots of ideas that went up in smoke Financial hyperactivity Tried working a lot Tried traveling a lot Now rarely move off one spot Give me a reason why Tried working-out Tried laying back Tried staying long in the sack Sticking to something? Why? Tried never standing when I can sit Tried never sitting when I can lie Why fight gravity Tried New Year’s goals Rarely stay the same Change all the time  That’s my name That’s who am I Tried writing prose Doesn’t suit my style One chapter takes a long, long while My interest?

  The Moment From the Japanese: Rainen no koto o iu to oni ga warau Speak of the matters of next year, and the devil will laugh at you. A ripple in the river A quality of morning light The sun on her smiling face Live here now Each moment before you No one knows - no need to know - what the next will bring It will manifest in its own time Feel now the Earth under your body Feel the love of Heaven above Hear each wave of breath breaking on the shore of consciousness Rise to the skies

  Writing-Off the Pandemic Acting moody Not doing my duty A little bit snooty Quite tutti-frutti Psychic pandemonium Feel flat as linoleum Totally rum-dummy Not to mention crummy Pacing crazy Not a little spacey Heart beat racy My eyes getting glazey Four walls closin’ Me feelin’ frozen What am I wantin’? A bigger cave to crawl in? But what do I have to complain about? I have no viral fire to put out. I’m not on mechanical ventilation. Just a few month’s isolation. Like many, many others. So how to express my purely mental stress? I’ll do it right. Take paper and pencil and write!

  Masked I wear a mask I do not want to be the one I have no symptoms I can still carry the virus I wear a mask A jogger passes me on the trail At the grocery, a lady pushes her cart slowly past me A neighbor drops by, wants to talk I wear a mask I do not want to be the one An invisible killer is abroad I lose an old friend to the virus I wear a mask It is an imperfect shield I stay ten feet away from others, hold my breath I do not want to be the one, the one who kills another with only my breath

   Be Like The Tree Stand tall and firm for what’s important for life. Be willing to bend to take-in what’s blowing in the wind. Let your roots grow deep where you are. Acknowledge and rely on your ingrained strength. Grow slowly but surely. Branch out into new spaces. Don’t be thin-skinned. Renew yourself each spring. Open your limbs to others. Let them nest in your heart. Bear fruit to share, which seeds your new growth as well. Let the colors of your personality shine like leaves in autumn. Accept the losses of change, the small deaths of fall. Turn inward in winter. Be silent. Listen. Reach always for the light.  Raise your limbs in praise, and gratitude for life’s grace. When it’s time to pass, let your growth be your legacy,  Like well-seasoned walnut for an heirloom cabinet.

  Impressions of the Universe: Ekphrasis of Oriels by Visionary Artist Amber Korthals A planet alone and unknown in the cosmic vastness A sea-green corona encircling a verdant planet The alabaster scales on a mythical dragon The old soul of a sequoia Crimson afterglow of the setting sun A gathering of worlds A beach on the ocean of the universe The melding of colors in the light of the sun Flowering clouds above the bay Reflections in a fountain of dreams A tangerine moon Churning currents at the edge of the Eye of Jupiter A geothermal paint pot Exhalations of a green planet A frozen, broken icescape seen from a starship searching for a place to land The blue-green aura of a naiad Creatures in the ice caves of Eos The unknown beyond the pale Prayer wheels spinning, rising to the heavens Tardis, time traveler

  Janus Words: Two Meanings for the Same Word These words are named after Janus, the two-faced Roman god of doors and gates. Here are several examples. Can you pick out the Janus words? The man was really in a fix, because he tried a fix that didn’t work. His fix was to buckle the saddle strap, but the strap buckled and broke. Then the gate bolted to the corral broke, and the horse bolted. He had to retrieve the horse fast, and then hold him fast until his partner could get another saddle. This was a real handicap because the handicapped race was about to begin. He tried to screen these missteps from view, but the whole scene was being caught on video to be screened later.

  Hi, Cool Costs of the virus: Cheap gas, but nowhere to go It’s survival mode Cheap pandemic gas Ninety-five cents per gallon Go but you may die Squirrels, chipmunks fight  Over the birdseed outside Humans horde t.p. In community Is found the answer to woe Call a friend today Social connection But physical distancing To love your neighbor This is not a drill The pandemic kills people Don’t spread the virus It’s a busy yard Fox chased a rabbit Monday Today, two turkeys!  

  Nature Speaks The Moon glows, “I am a big, old, gold coin. Reach up to me, and put me in your pocket. Keep me close in your dreams. I will never let you down.” A Star sings, “I am very, very far away, but you can still see me in the heavens. Look upon me and make a wish. Hold me in your heart, and it will come true.” The Sun beams, “I am the star that powers your world. I am on fire, burning with love for you. I see my warmth reflected in your faces, and I am happy.” The Earth rumbles, “I am your home. My gravity keeps you grounded. My fertile fields keep you nourished. Treat me well, and I will be good natured.” The Wind whispers, “Come along with me. I travel uncharted paths to unnamed places. I am the wind at your back.” The Water murmurs, “Float your boat on my back, and I will carry you to watery wonders around the world.” The Forest rustles, “I have many gifts for you. Here are two on which you depend: I inhale carbon from the air, and I exhale oxygen for you to breathe. The Ra

  No Rhyme or Reason The only word that rhymes with “silver” Is the one for ewe lamb, known as a “chilver.” The only partner in rhyme with “orange” Is a sac on a plant with spores, a “sporange.” Even lonelier a word as far as rhyme goes Is the rhymeless “angel” from the Greek “angelos.” A month of Sundays you would look For a rhymer for “month”, a word poets forsook. To rhyme those words, no need to flinch. Simply coin a rhymer to help in a pinch. To rhyme a word, for example, with silver, For a silver Cadillac, call it a “Cadilver.” For the fruit or color known as an orange, An orange porridge would be named a “porrange.” If you were in danger, would you call a stranger? No, you’d ring-up a “dangel,” an angel in danger. Finally, if you are having a not-good month, Why not just chalk it off as a “schmonth.” If this poem of sorts is sounding like Seuss, You’re right, it’s being a bit verbaloose.

  Idio(ma)tic Hey, buddy. I’ll buy you a beer if you listen to my story... It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I’m all washed-up. I’m back to square one. I hate to beat a dead horse, but I’m done beating around the bush. I’m at the end of my rope, the bitter end. I need to blow off steam. Stella was - still is - the apple of my eye, the cat’s meow, the bee’s knees. Was I barking up the wrong tree? Did I have bats in the belfry? This is not just a bad hair day, or, in my case, a no hair day. Last week I could have bet my bottom dollar that she and I were an item. I put my best foot forward. I put on the dog. I pulled out all the stops. I knew she liked the glitz and glamor. I dropped a bundle on her. And that ain’t hay! We painted the town red, cut the rug in the ritziest joints. I really thought we were making beautiful music together. I thought I was in like Flynn. She seemed to be over-the-moon with me. But I ended-up going over like a lead balloon.  Why did I go bust? She blew me away wh

  It is Always Daytime Somewhere Read the stars, it is written there: It is always daytime somewhere. For those glimmering lamps light other worlds, With dawning days, their shining flags unfurled. See how many stars there are, everyone a sun, Rising each over a different world, the denizens’ day begun. To these citizens of the universe, it is quite OK, To say “good morning” and to wish them a glorious day. And if you feel depressed tonight, seemingly without light, Know that countless beings above might understand your plight. Navigate by those stars, they’ll turn your ship ‘round right, And know that you are never alone, never alone in the night.

   The Pike Pole  Besides being a fine woodworker, my son Keith is a shipwright, a small boat builder, a sailor, and sailboat racer. For over twenty-five years, he has built, helped build, or repaired many types of boats on both coasts, from eight-foot sailing dinghies to two-hundred foot megayachts. I mention these things because I want you to understand that Keith knows his way around boats, how to build them, and how to sail them. And his skills served him well several years ago on an overcast day on swirling San Francisco Bay.  The day started the way it usually does in the Bay area, foggy. It always seems to be foggy there. The Spaniards were the first Europeans to sail the coast of what is now California, and did so as early as the mid-1500’s, but never discovered the narrow entrance to San Francisco Bay, now called the Golden Gate, until the late-1700’s.  It went undiscovered for so long because the Golden Gate is shrouded in fog more often than not. Why I mention the Golden Gat

  Liquid Love A roiling Sky flirts with Earth. Earth warms to his advances,  She gifts him above a vaporous pool of love.   Great sparks fly from Sky’s carnal heart,     He showers Earth in watery embrace. Trees weep for joy at Sky’s wet kiss. Earth bursts with blooms for her liquid lover.     Earth and Sky, a lovers’ tryst for the ages.

  Blue Marble White wispy arabesques swirl across the blue Wan whirling dervishes spin in azure heaven   Old Zephyr’s paintbrush has washed the sky with white,              

  Without the Yin, There Is No Yang  Without the female, there is no male. Without the mother, there is no father. Without the nester, there is no provider. Without the heart, there is no hand. Without the home, there is no world. Without the lamb, there is no lion. Without the winter, there is no spring. Without death, there is no birth. Without the end, there is no beginning. Without the male, there is no female. Without the father, there is no mother. Without the sun, there is no shade. Without the wind, there is no calm. Without the talker, there is no listener. Without the hawk, there is no dove. Without the viewed, there is no veiled. Without birth, there is no death. Without the beginning, there is no end.

  One Morning’s Haiku Late rain in springtime Farmer cannot plow his field In nine months, baby! Home owner feeds birds But bird feeder now empty Crane taps on window Leaves fly in the wind Squirrel burying acorns Forgets them, oaks grow It’s my Sweet Honey! Love sometimes sweet, sometimes stings Bee knows this to be. Guitar man sings songs Telling of his life and times Honesty in verse African djembe! Drum beat vibrates everything Even my belly Apple, banana Avocado, coconut A world-class smoothie Reach out, dip, and pull Canoe paddled silently Vanishes in mist Sun’s up, man asleep Sunlight shines on closed eyelids Man hopes for dark cloud Dozen frogs in the pond Motionless, twelve tongues waiting Bug meditation My new beret works Inspires high-speed poetics Ten haiku per hour