Oct 16
Ccook's picture

Wright's Mountain

        While not officially Bradford’s town forest, Wright’s Mountain is owned by the town of Bradford, and is an important forest in our community. Part of its beauty is in its conservation - the area will permanently remain a wildlife habitat and forest land. The peaceful woods, inhabited by a variety of plants and animals - including moose and a large porcupine population - is made up of mostly northern hardwoods. There are also some softwoods on the west slope, which serve as protective “deer yards” in the harsh winters.
Oct 09
poem 0 comments challenge: 35
Ccook's picture

A Reflection On My Future

I will be
The lonely tree, breaking an island of concrete with its roots.
The jerseys on pasture and the dogs on the porch.
I will be a half read book on a lawn chair,
the small house in a field,
and the garden of vegetables in an uncut yard.

I will be the deep sigh after a long day of work.
the stress that gnaws on happiness
and the fear of getting old.

I will be the soft goodnight in a little girl’s ear,
and a warm hug.
The guardian of childhood.

I could be a fulfilled smile
or an empty stare.
I could be a wistful, “What happened”
or a resounding “What next.”

I could be a girl who dreamed of success,
and got bigger bags beneath her eyes.

I could be anything,
and end up nothing.  

Or I could be everything
but nothing.

Oct 01
poem 0 comments challenge: 802
Ccook's picture


I push upward,
calves burning,
and watch the sun pierce through the budding tree cover
to brighten the trail in dappled light.
Then one last surge as the trees thin like hair on an old man’s head:

Wind whips over the bald rocky peak,
as sunlight illuminates the fog in golden hews.
I can see green rolling off the mountain in waves of sharp crests and soft hills.

I’m looking down on a state of 75% forest,
Billboard free roads,
and small, tight-knit communities.

But when I descend from Vermont’s highest point,
the downsides appear like the stains on my favorite shirt
which are only revealed by a knowing eye.

Pure Beauty
blemished by




Sep 25
Ccook's picture

Wrong Impression

I stood at the starting line, my heart pumping and my throat dry. As the starter loaded his gun with blanks, I looked around at my competition. The girl to my right offered a smile and a cheerful “you’ll be fine” (probably in response to my terrified face). On my left was a runner that I’d only seen a few times before, but I knew that she was good. She didn’t acknowledge me though, and her stone cold expression was intimidating. My resentment grew even more when she stared blankly ahead, as the rest of the runners wished each other Good Luck. Then the gun went off and I didn’t have time to be bothered by her attitude.   
Sep 18
Ccook's picture

Go. Let me. I knew. What if?

Go. Go faster and stronger.
I can do better, and I will.
Compete with myself, not the world.
Make sure it’s finished, not done.

Let me. Let me tell you at four years old that I am right and you are wrong.
“No mom, you can’t brush my hair for the next two years, but I won’t either.
Also, I will never do this math, and you can’t make me.”

I knew. I knew when my mom was sick
and she never had to ask me when her head needed shaving.
Here is that cup of tea you were wishing for.
Yes, I know what you need.

What if? What if it’s not what they wanted?
And it doesn’t work out?
What if you leave me,
and the engine of that plane fails,
and I never see you again.

Go, let me, I knew. But what if?


What if I let go.