Poet's Place     Some of Jim's Poems from the Trail   Gates of the Mountains                                        Bull River Woods                                      In the Basin                                        Floe Lake                                      Jet Dreams                                      Mountains of the Clouds                                      For Abbey                                        Raven at the Border    Poems from Jim's Friends                              There in the Setting Sun by b.d. foster                            A Thing of Beauty, A Sandwich Forever by Kathy Miner                                               Footprints in the Sand by Jacquie Schmall                                               I Stand For What I Stand On by Dennis Fritzinger                                               The Troubadour by Gail Woodman            Gates of the Mountains ©1997 by Walkin’ Jim Stoltz These are the "gates", The way in, The door to another world, another place, To "the mountains". In the still of morning a canyon wren trills. Osprey scream. Pelicans glide by on reflections. Tiers of rock slip upward from feet of green glass, Smooth as snake's fine skin, Afraid to shatter something the wind surely will. There is something timeless in the meeting of cliff and water, An unending tug for yin and yang, A constant game of give and take. My eyes are drawn to where they meet, That edge of liquid and stone, That line of stopping And that of letting go. A fine line, clear as this crystal mountain morning, It's a spider web of a line, The wind through the eagle's wing slowly flapping down river, It's the motorboats rude intrusion, Its wake sending ripples of light To tear down the canyon walls. It's a line of black and white and gray, Of where we've been and where we go, A fine line of choice, this gate, The Gates of the Mountains.       Bull River Woods ©1988 by Walkin’ Jim Stoltz Published in The Whisper Behind The Wind ©1988; Rewritten ©1997   The sun-jilted thief, Sneaking in where it can, Steals from the cool shade Of a dew drop’s perpetual home. Moist Earth gives footfalls silence Amid a foot-deep needle carpet and Moss like sponge, springs back. Green is breathable essence, More than color Wrung from feathered ferns And rolled to a giant’s canopy, A fluid spectrum catching vitality Within one seed. These blooms Rise to colossal monuments, With even arms unstable to skirt their girth Five times ‘round; Though to embrace ---- Gives back. Living being, there is wisdom here Amid age rippling bark And solemn green energy, The proud source. How can it be? There are those who walk here With stacked lumber in their eyes, And dollar-signs on their lips.    Return to Poetry Index      In The Basin ©1995 By Walkin’ Jim Stoltz (This was published in the Fall 1995 issue of Wild Wind, and was written while Jim was walking a 400 mile trek through central Nevada’s mountains and vast desert basins.)             I walk into the shadow of the mountain,             Climbing peaks of silhouette laid bare across open desert.             I chase distant coolness, stepping strong for the next range,             Fifteen miles to go.             Step upon step until the ground disappears,             I stumble in the dark somewhere in the middle, way out there,             Then crawl into my bag under stars spilled to the horizons,             Silence puddling like quicksilver, blooming in the stillness.   Return to Poetry Index       Floe Lake ©1997 By Walkin' Jim Stoltz          The morning holds its breath          In these gray hours before the sun.          We try our best to break camp,          But not the silence.          The lake must hear our footsteps,          Though we step soft on deer feet.          It must know we gaze upon it with love in our eyes,          With joy for the site of those slate waters doubling the dawn.          At waters edge I whisper a hello prayer,          An answer comes in ripples from the calving glacier,          Golden in the first rays of the day,          Flowing like blood pulsing through the heart          Of glowing glass and mirrors of thought.          Somewhere in those shining depths,          In that living surface bright with the days beginning,          Lies another world just nudging our own.          This is where dreams are born;          Where the peaks of mountains bend down          Close to the heart of the forests,          Where the clouds ride the water's eyes          To show us humans another way of seeing.    Return to Poetry Index     Jet Dreams ©1992 By Walkin' Jim Stoltz First published in Spring 1992 issue of Wild Wind Sound asleep under the stars, I lay snug in my bed of rabbitbrush and sage, Lulled to dream by open plains Stretching miles inside of me, The sweep of heavens spilling stars down to each horizon, Deep canyons of downy sleep Secure and snug to the Earth, I wallowed through, Until they came. Jet fighters, Playing cold games with swollen egos, Rape the desert night. A violent, Ugly passing. Cracking peace and split in two, The Earth rolls over. I sat up in reflex, Awake, in one motion, scared. Then, mad when I knew, To scream my curse and shake my fist, A ritual of passing, Of listening alone and willing the silence To creep back to its gentle lair, The jet's yawn swallowed by the miles of dark. The air hung like a granite tomb, Heavy and waiting Still and expecting 'Til the coyotes rose, Just over the hill, To yip and howl Their own complaints chasing into the night.   Return to Poetry Index     Mountains of the Clouds ©1996 by Walkin’ Jim Stoltz (This poem was published in the Fall 1996 issue of Wild Wind, and was written on Jim’s ‘96 Mexico to Canada walk along the Pacific Crest Trail. This was from the Cascades in northern Washington.)                I walk the mountains of the clouds                Climbing wet trails of wispy fog,                Wandering north through skies                Dragging bottom over snow choked peaks.                Here is the rain,                Falling again without sound,                Creeping on round padded lion feet,                Soaking forest, mountain, and                Me, before I know it.                These days are green ones,                Reflected in the red eye of the devil’s club                The majestic rise of a ghostly heron,                And somewhere                A black bear cub crying to the day.    Return to Poetry Index     For Abbey ©1995 By Walkin’ Jim Stoltz Northern lights blazing over the desert, Dancing eagles crying in the sky, Coyote knows that somethings gone, The canyon wind mourns good-bye. Your words, dropped so, Led me by the hand, Opening doors I never thought to look behind Desert pearls Like grains of sand They piled up fast and spread with time. Northern lights rolling ‘cross the night, Lion screaming at the highway’s shoulder, The canyon sleeps While miles away Another needle Falls from the pinyon.   (For Informatin about Edward Abbey visit Abbey’s Web)   Return to Poetry Index     Raven at the Border By Walkin' Jim Stoltz The raven grew lazily out of the north wind, A speck on the silence of the distant horizon, Beating her way slowly into my vision Like the hand of a god coming to rest on my shoulder. I stood at the border, primed and ready, Blooming green caressing the vast desert at my feet. She flew into my dream, and on into my day, Living like a cloud in the seamless sky. She owned my eyes and borrowed my heartbeat For each slow flap of her ragged wings. Closer with each begged-for minute, she could have wrapped me up. And flown on to Mexico with this thought hanging from her beak. Instead she circled once, a spinning wheel of prayer, Then twice, a frame within this slice of time, Around my bursting love, And began the long and regal flight back to a Nameless north. I took a step ……and tried to follow.      Return to Poetry Index         Return to Books & Art         Return to Home