Category Archives: Nature

Feelings of Not

I see the mountains.
The golden glow fades
As darkness descends.

Music from the past blares from my phone.
My body begins to settle
As my mind begins to calm.

The hot Indian summer breeze wafts through.
My breathing slows
As my body responds to sweet grass and humid clouds.

The coffee trickles down my throat.
Its warm, rich flavor dances on my tongue
As memories of my gram and her sisters flow in my mind’s eye.

I have nothing to hold.
My lover sleeps alone tonight
As I try to get stronger in his weakness.

My soul is aching and yearning.
My desires are unnamed and indescribable
As a distant car alarm physically jars my lost mind to the present.

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The Unused Path

I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
— Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”

Morning fog began to fade.
I meandered down a woodland path.
Truly it was one no one would take.
Warnings unheeded fell on deaf ears.
It got treacherous with rock and fallout.
Mud pits and brambles suckered me with no escape.

Ten furlongs down the path I saw a gate.
The gate was rickety and worn.
White flakes fluttered in the breeze revealing aged grey.
Hinges screamed with dry oil.
The fence dilapidated was no barrier.
Within the fence there was a garden.

Three rose bushes stood in bud.
Each was a different vibrant, vivid hue despite dead leaves and vines.
I had no shovel, no rake, no shears.
Yet I could see the disarray was damaging.
I kicked, I pulled, I scooped with my bare hands, I twisted to breakage.
By noon I had paths cleared between the gate and each bush, between every bush.

I pulled off dead buds and dry  leaves.
I snapped a stem or two.
I pulled away petals marred by worms, rust, and decay.
I rubbed my hands and poked and prodded out dead thorns.
By sunset I was done.
The garden gate closed on a secret world much better than before.

At dusk my path ended at a crossroads.
It was the carriage path.
Worn and well trod it comforted and conducted the masses.
Once again I was back within the maddening crowd.
The secret of my garden warmed my heart.
The hidden roses opened in my dreams, each with hope for a life of joyful times to come.

Walking the Schoharie

Author’s Note: This piece was based on several long walks (bordering on hikes) that I’ve taken while I had my graduates on their celebratory trips.

Walking the stony grounds–
Splashing waves,
Boulders and pebbles–
Fog obscures the sun.
The flow is only half the channel.
A black cat paws through the other side
Looking for mice or crawfish.
The caw of crows is broken by the distant siren.

I am alone.
The unfamiliar terrain
Holds an empty, foreboding feeling.
The silent, siren song
Leaves no peace,
Only a troubling of the waters
With no angel
To soothe the world’s ills.

 

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Creekside at Schoharie

A Natural Path

Wandering down ancient paths,
Creators long gone,
Reality defies the map.
Logic overruled.
Bereft of common landmarks,
The map still holds truth.
The rattling leaves replace
Ticking clocks and ringing phones
As keepers of serenity.
Time marches
With no one to keep the beat
As babbling, rambling brooks
Pass the time away.

Storm Dancer

The winds rise–
Not gentle breezes of slow change,
But blasts of immediately immolating metamorphosis.

She ties her hair back again in a bun,
Giving the icy persona of school marm turned librarian.

The skies grow darker–
Not the peace of a starry summer night,
But the sudden blinding black of brute force.

She slips off her shoes,
Testing joints misused and too ancient for her time.

Thunderclaps erupt–
Not a gentle rhythm of normalcy,
But the irregular cadence of a warcry out of time.

She slides into motion,
Closing her eyes even to the audience of One.

Air pressure fluctuates–
Lightning pierces the mahogany night,
As thunder and gusts intensify.

Her feet glide across the floor,
To an unknown, arrhythmic cadence.

Rain pelts the windows–
A sharp staccato beat
Turns arrhythmia into regularity.

She leaps, she twirls,
A slide here as arms wave fluidly there.

Drops hit faster and faster–
The regular staccato pounds the rhythm
That is the soundtrack to her fight.

Her wardance intensifies
To stomp out the hardships of life.

It ends abruptly–
The Son shines on more brightly
As puddles dry in the greener garden.

She collapses prostrate at His feet,
Sighing as her heart finds peace.

Hodge-Podge Poetry, #3

Author’s Note: These were some haikus I found on a sheet of tablet paper. probably from the late 80s. Hoping my math skills for syllables were better then than they are today!

Fast flow babbling brooks
Over stones, through hills and vales.
They flow to the sea.

Fast dancing flowers
In meadows sending us codes,
Codes of peace and love.

The birds are flying,
Flying beautifully fast,
Flying for freedom.

Trees are shedding leaves,
Bright colors falling quickly,
Covering the earth.

Leaves dancing downward
In gowns of autumn russet
Spiral on the wind.

Meadows in moonlight
Wearing winter coats of white
Soapy, quartz-like gems