<![CDATA[The Art of Exploration: Poetry]]>https://www.artofexploration.com/s/poetryhttps://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!qLb7!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F6fed3680-a68c-4939-9b5f-73e9ca848e04_133x133.pngThe Art of Exploration: Poetryhttps://www.artofexploration.com/s/poetrySubstackSat, 11 Apr 2026 05:30:22 GMT<![CDATA[Steep Trail]]>https://www.artofexploration.com/p/steep-trailhttps://www.artofexploration.com/p/steep-trailWed, 03 Dec 2025 01:33:05 GMT
I sat beside the lake  
and noticed  
the natter of juncos  
the lap of water  
	the brush of pine needles.  
   
I walked between the trees  
and inhaled  
the evergreen air  
the ash from afar  
	the mountain breeze.  
   
I climbed the steep trail  
and admired  
the quiet peace  
the twisted roots  
the mosses and  
	liverworts.  
   
I think back through the years and  
imagine those before me  
who sat beside the lake, and  
walked between the trees, and  
	climbed the same steep trail.  
  
I marvel at the changes and  
the fine grains of sifting sands,  
the moments that arise,
quickly, only to perish
	once again.

]]><![CDATA[The Sora]]>https://www.artofexploration.com/p/the-sorahttps://www.artofexploration.com/p/the-soraFri, 28 Nov 2025 16:06:00 GMT

I saw a Sora stepping through the grass  
seeming somewhat tipsy,  
  and tripping over twigs.  
  
Toes tangled in the reeds,  
head nodding with each stride,  
  forward, backward, side-to-side.  
  
Hoping, praying, pleading,   
to achieve some poise and some aplomb  
  right there on solid ground.  
  
Seeing me, the Sora froze, then made a clumsy dash,  
fumbling furiously through the weeds  
  and to the refuge of the creek.  
  
The rest remains a blur,  
  her body morphed, now swift and sleek.  
  
She tiptoed through the swamp,  
  with newfound grace, fluency, and ease.  
  
Across the water and between the reeds,  
  she ducked and glided, seemed to slither.  
  
Then with one look back I think she winked  
  as she slipped clean out of sight.

]]><![CDATA[Wapiti]]>https://www.artofexploration.com/p/wapitihttps://www.artofexploration.com/p/wapitiFri, 21 Nov 2025 16:16:00 GMT
On the edge of winter at the drop of dusk,
Wapiti bows his head, his antlers catch the wind.
Like scaffolds made of bone, they steady his stance
     against the graupel gust.
  
Wapiti finds refuge below the Mummy Range, 
he rests in willow withies along a frozen rill,
he gnaws the matted ninebark 
     as first snow begins to fall.
  
When morning breaks, a ginger glow 
     rings the turquoise sky.
Wapiti rises tall, stands proud as Mount Chapin —
     unmoved by crackling boughs, 
     untouched by prickling frost.
  
In the alpine meadow, Wapiti strides alone. 
     He looks toward the herd — a drifter, he holds back,
dreaming of the dawn when he 
     leads them from the front.
  
When daylight slants to evenfall 
and moonlight cools the snow,
Wapiti’s bugle fills the night
     as he cries out, hoping to be heard.

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