I ache to hold them

at the table

the last light is slipping away,
so are the colors,
so is my time here in the Smokies,

I found my first bear of the trip
less than an hour ago,







I’d hiked from valley to mountain top,
up and down the watersheds around me,
and no bear, or even turkey, showed itself,
minutes ago a gaggle of us watched
as the bear fed, moving crinkly leaves and a grey stone
to get at what was underneath,
acorns seem likely to me,
mine was the second car to stop,
the child in many more also slowed, stopped,
poured out of the vehicles
to almost prance at the edge of her arena,








cameras before them,
looking as if each was offered to the bear,








I snapped my pictures, too,

now as beige and russet leaves swirl in the pool before me
my mind is drawn to the practical,
what needs doing back at school,
what needs doing here at the cabin,
and who should do it, who can do it, who will do it,

I’ve already put some things in the car,
for I want to leave early in the morning,
see sunrise from an overlook half an hour away,








then seek out the elk in Cataloochee on the way home,
another cousin we’ve belatedly reintroduced to what was their home
before we took it for ours,

a guy watching the bear imagined her considering us
with the cold eye she did give us
and thinking we should “get a life,”

I think we “get a life”
when we make room at Earth’s table
for the least of these, our own brethren,
and those we often treat as even lesser,
the plants and animals with whom we are kin,

the wolves couldn’t find a new home here,
the peregrine falcon and the elk are on the way back,
the bear endures, as do we,

I hope for us to learn more truly
how to gentle our touch upon the world
so that the tomorrows that will come
have a table set for all of God’s creatures, including us,

in the morning I find a sunrise that dazzles me,
elk and turkey who thrill me,











and my camera and pen ache to appreciate and hold them.

by Henry Walker
November 1, ’10

feeling right

the hike and its moods

there comes a time
when I’m pulling up a slope,
and I’m in the rhythm,
legs and lungs working hard, and feeling right:

















I know myself and the mountain, and it is good,

in some ways such a time feels better than getting to the destination,
for at the waterfall, at the peak,








it is not just me and nature, body and challenge,
it is me with people,
people who can blunt the edge of my enthusiasm,
pull me back from transcendence into the mundane,
with my students I am called to work to help them find what they need,
with strangers it’s a crap shoot, and I can lose quite often,

the beginning of a hike is of will and doubt,
of assertion despite the challenge,
the end can be of pride, coupled with the sadness of moving past,
on the way up, on the way down,
I can glitch when I hope I’m somewhere, and I’m not,
so my fuss box turns over, and I am disheartened,
on the way down my feet often hurt,











my eyes want to close,
and I easily slip into my mind being elsewhere,
I like to call up when I felt most in the moment
and let that wholeness call me
to be more and more mindful of what feels right.

by Henry Walker
October 30, ’10

a hard hike and an open soul

I need the tonic

I need a retreat from school, a strategic withdrawal,
I have been at my social best the last week:
a “pickin’” at our house




















with music, visiting,
and eating enough to give thanks,
casting a play so that kid after kid, person after person,
can find the way home to being their best,
having a Day of the Dead so that many of us can be larger
because we remember, and, in that remembering, honor,
and, in that honoring,
we open ourselves anew to feel the pain
that must be there for the joy to come in, too,

and I have been there for each and every class and student,
as best I can, and it has been hard, and good,
throughout all my work I labor to find and hold the vision:
to find and hold each of us who strive to bring ourselves true enough
so that a difference can be made that matters,

so much of who I am is social,
for I have my gifts and it’s in connection that I must use them,
and I love to make a difference,

so much of me is other,
and I need the tonic of forest and stream, of elk and bear,
of a hard hike and an open soul.

by Henry Walker
October 29, ’10

off to the Smokies

of bear & elk

a great imposing bear can own these woods at night,
this grand bear’s been seen, late at night,
moving in the neighborhood,
filling half a lane of the road,
a few weeks ago a great pile of its scat appeared in our yard,








I guessed chestnuts drew it here
so that it could even more bulk up for winter,
and I felt daunted by its size,

it’s early evening and I’m sipping a cup of coffee down by the creek,
the porch lights bright enough for me to see
some of the world around me,
and I do look over my shoulder in case that bear is coming,
the beech tree above me holds her leaves
which must be yellowing into gold,
though this night takes away the color,
enough of the other trees have lost their leaves
to let stars glare at me through the cold clear air,
on my drive up here the sun’s last beams
spotlit some trees to make them glow,











though most of the high country had taken off their party best
and put back on subtler hues and more basic shapes,

I hoped for elk at dusk, and I found them,
just off the road in a grassy field:
a great antlered bull asserted his pride,
he, his mates and children all together,
the young still on the milk,







and more mating still on the bull’s mind,








a younger male, with antlers more twigs than trunk, intruded,
and the two males faced-off,


















pushing and testing each other, more play at dominance than challenge,
I left as the Smokies slipped more into dark than day.








by Henry Walker
October 29, ’10

CFS could use a donation. . .

The Arts & Creation

the arts are who we are at our best:

for with the arts
that within us takes a risk
and brings forth something new,
something born out of that which imagines,
which sees what is not yet
and calls it forth into being,

I know the imaginer best in writing
when the story, the poem,
seems to spring full-blown from the head, the heart,

I know next best the visioner in photography,
when the photo reveals itself
within the infinity of possibilities before me,

the creator who draws,
who paints,
who sings,
who makes music,
who dances,
who acts. . .
each releases the imaginer within,
and the world is reborn with each new release of the touch of creation.


by Henry Walker
October 25, ’10

a need to be seen

the play can be the thing

everyone of us, I feel, wants to be seen,
and, when seen, appreciated as a gift,
a gift chance and will allow to be given,
and a presentation that can please the audience before us:
the essence of who we are then worth notice,
worth our breaths, who we are
worth a turn in the light,

I find it hard to believe that anything I do in teaching
is more important than seeing true the student,
liking what I see,
and letting the student know my belief
in the power and wonder of who each is,

I seek to create showcases, opportunities, venues
for the light within to find a way past the shutters
that so easily drop and interpose,
for the light to shine bright,
whether it be in writing, discussion, project, sport,
whatever path I can help the student find
to release that which is one’s best before us,

now it’s time for me, for us, to move forward with a play,
and in the process of visioning, auditioning, picking, rehearsing, performing,
many of us can find a path to the light
and what lives on the stage within the spotlight
will shine bright, mostly because that within will be a’blaze!


by Henry Walker
October 18, ’10

kids in the woods

remember: you do know the language

she looked at my kids, piling into the van,
looked at me: “you’re a brave man,” she offered,

















whereas my take is that I mostly say “yes” to my inclinations,
and release how heart and intuition lead me to act,
in some ways it might be braver to defy the calling,
certainly not as right, though, and destructive in its bravery,








I work to allow myself to be constructive, to be a guide
who opens a door for young people
who finds the paths to help them along
to learn a new language,
that they’re born to know,
but that gets obscured
by the whispering and blathering of our culture,

whereas the universe speaks subtly in atom and spirit,

I seek to know and help the young to remember they can hear
a miracle speak in a seed,











magic laugh in a waterfall,


















a bird and a bear captivate us with story,
and to know again the rightness they can feel
in the midst of nature unbridled,

I joy when any of us relearns the first language
and hears again the music sung by life, truth, light,
above the rhythm that matter itself establishes for us,













we are given the grace
to hope to know it all.

by Henry Walker
October 9, ’10