POEM: Hymns to the Forest God #21

The Forest God prowls through my dreams, 

sometimes a deer, sometimes a man. He haunts 

our Western Civilization, showing up unwanted, 

like the raccoon in the trash can, the coyote 

in the back yard, the deer and the rabbits eating 

the garden. He prowls through my dreams 

and I turn over, remembering a time when 

I was wild, a time before time, a life before 

this one. When the towers fall, when the streets 

are empty, when the cars no longer run, 

when the rich are eating their money, he will 

roam the land again, still as wild as ever, 

calling to all of us to go feral and join him.

POEM: Hymns to the Forest God #8

The Forest God in autumn 

feels the rutting of the stags, 

the eagerness of the does; 

feels the dying of the trees, 

the sinking of the sun; 

feels the call of the darkness 

and turns away, and casts 

his antlers with the rest, 

fearless; and pulls the darkness 

down, down, to cover the wood, 

the world, to await the winter, 

to sleep and to dream of spring.

POEM: Hymns to the Forest God #6

The Forest God in spring 

walks among the spotted fawns, 

children of his children, 

most delicate of hoof. 

He is the father of all fathers 

and guide of the herd, 

knowing where grow 

the tenderest grasses, 

the sweetest blooms. 

He parts the trees 

with sweet winds 

to let the sun shine down

on their browsing heads, 

their glossy coats. 

The waters run quick 

at his command, 

springing up where 

his hoof strikes. 

May I, too, be permitted 

To drink of the waters

That spring from 

The Forest God’s hoof.

May I be permitted 

To rest with the herd

Where the Forest Lord

Bids them lie down.

POEM: Hymns to the Forest God #5

The Forest God in winter 

grows a shaggy pelt, 

thickness of beard, 

feathering on his legs. 

Sometimes, like the deer, 

he drops his antlers, 

to grow them back in spring,

but sometimes not. 

Cloaked like a man, in solitude

he roams the forest paths 

or wanders in deer shape 

always out of range 

of hunters. Under snow he sleeps, 

denned beneath the earth, 

between this world and that world, 

dreaming of both as one.