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Hanna Cochran Poem
I wish to sing as sweetly as the birds high in their trees
To fly, to jump in crackly dry leaves
And to venture to places unexplored.
I wish there be eagles that soar
Over mountains, rivers, and more.
I hope small joys are forever accounted for
And for nature’s simple scenes to not be ignored.
I wish for bosom friends to look not in vain
of glorious nature, petals washed in silver rain,
And for all people to see the beauty, which has from this earth, poured.
Tail-Rhyme contest, Emile Pinet
8/11/20
Copyright © Hanna Cochran | Year Posted 2020
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Hanna Cochran Poem
tall pines droop, glisten
Sagging under silver snow.
Soft enchanting wood.
Copyright © Hanna Cochran | Year Posted 2020
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Hanna Cochran Poem
I know I must cover half the land
in my reseda green blades.
I know I came first, to enrich the earth's dry sands,
and to prepare for the beginnings of man.
I watched the trees grow giant, all alone
watched them stretch, heard them die and groan.
All this past I have lived, and I am tramped on, ignored,
"Outdone" by boastful blooms
that have over time been planted around me, a-top me.
That have stolen the sunlight that dapples my plains
And have quenched their thirst with what was supposed to be,
my rain.
Stargazers, lilies, irises
Bleeding heart, columbine, Hyacinths.
Gaining second, third views
and careful tending to.
When I am merely watched by lazy clouds.
Humans dig their sharp heels under my long blades,
And even then! They mow me flat every few days.
Further still, I endure their picnics
suffocating my soft fields.
Watch as he hands her a bouquet.
Ah! what a pitiful charade!
Then I silently mock the flowers that close every night to moonshine
while my strong green grasses dance all the time.
Copyright © Hanna Cochran | Year Posted 2020
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Hanna Cochran Poem
If I could lose the weight of my arms
The warmth on my shoulders
The feeling of the beach molded by my back.
The whistling of the embankment’s
whittling sands
and sloshing gusts of wind that slide over my skin
like sterling feathers.
I thought I could take myself out of the action
of listening
if I could lose the sounds.
If their resonance never reached me.
I tried to lose the feeling of myself;
The diligence of physical attentiveness.
I tried to become something otherworldly
and to be the world.
To encompass a spirit of something beyond my bounds.
To feel a fluid infinity
without myself a part.
I tried to surpass myself.
I thought to cross into the natural world
was not to observe,
but to become.
But it is not a crossing.
Not a leaving of yourself,
but a coming home.
I, twisted limbs.
Pose delicately in half sleep
for the sea.
I speculate,
scrutinize,
search for descriptions of the waves.
The shades of each underbelly.
The foam over each fold
as the water rolls over itself ceaselessly.
But the ease of its beauty
becomes mutilated by my human mind.
Overanalyzed.
The words I need
changing with the turn of every sky.
But this noticing,
this is always from the outside.
How do I become the world
without losing the distinction of myself?
How do I pass inside nature’s soul
without leaving the humanness of mine?
I, a contorted body.
Too tangled for order,
yet too orderly.
Too clean for the mess of dirt and slime and blood.
Too pained and raw.
Too used to death.
Too logical,
yet unreasonable.
Unrecognizable
and known.
We are led by despair and love
as if they are the same thing.
Heartache in red and black.
A numbness of terrific color;
focused.
This is how we feel;
In opposites that become the same.
I need not cancel my feeling
to join the realm of another.
I cannot,
for it is the intimacy of my attachment
that at once unlatches me.
Copyright © Hanna Cochran | Year Posted 2021
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Hanna Cochran Poem
I feel only the cool floor
Her soft fur and little pink tongue darting in
and out like a shoehorn or
flower petal.
The housecat melts into my lap
Presses her head into the palm of my hand like an almond.
Witness to the world
Her eyes like spring meadows full of daisies
and innocent
Her heart, a jar of stars.
I breathe deep
Rest my chin on her belly and feel
the steady rise and fall of her lungs.
Her tiny heartbeat
The musings of her dreams.
How all the small things are large
and the new things, incredible.
And here
Everything is okay.
Copyright © Hanna Cochran | Year Posted 2021
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