The pulse of life beats strong,
beset by all that is wrong.
Animals prey in the yard at night,
entering as we lose the light,
to eat the crops and uproot the flowers,
creating destruction hour by hour.
Every effort seems for naught.
Undermining all we’ve been taught.
No respect for decades of effort
to create a safe space for all who enter,
a space free of willfulness, woes and want;
a space where diversity and beauty abound,
where seeds breed and reseed in dark ground
so readily that we forget the dangers around
every corner, and under every rock.
It is imperative to finally take stock.
To pay attention to those lurking in the dark.
To those who would steal our garden’s wealth
with deceit, lies and stealth.
Single spotlights, motion sensors for lights,
individual porch lights and flashlights
have not been enough to stop the raccoons and skunks.
The unseen predators who hide beneath
that which bloomed from our labors,
until we finally notice what has been lost.
We cannot count the cost
although we desperately try.
Our pulse beats strong as we cry.
I think we have found a solution
to the critters who invade like pollution,
unsightly, unseen, willingly mean.
Faerie lights of all colors with patternless pulse
strung throughout the yard, across every row
where our treasured plants grow
threatening with uncertainty those who prey
as dark nights take over our days.
On at dusk, off at first light.
We have finally set our garden aright.
The pulse of life beats strong
with each push of the button on voting machines
the faerie lights come on.
STORM STORY
Dark as night the sun took flight
before the winds wild and tight
forced their way with all their might
across the city showing no pity.
Trees split and showered leafy bowers,
or erupted from the ground with nary a sound
their roots so deep now unbound.
The wind became the only sound
creaking and weeping across sky and ground
raining tears in swirling fears that pound
hearts startled as they ran for cover
before a storm like no other.
I love a storm which reminds us all
that we have little say at all.
Climate has a mind of its own and yet
we must never forget and quickly recall
That we cannot tame nature
but we can tame our selves.
Natural disasters may not not be natural
after all.
What more do we need to believe
climate change has come to stay
unless we find a new way
to harness wind and sun and wave.
I welcome the message the storm left behind.
We must not delay altering our minds
and opening our hearts to the divine
which moves through nature’s mysterious ways
to offer us life day after day,
until storms take away sunny days with dark displays
of the death and destruction at play
among those who refuse to change their ways.
The future is ours, like it or not.
It is not too late to do what we ought.
Leave a comment
Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY
Tagged as climate change, floods, high winds, midwest storms, nature, Ohio weather, RAIN, storms, tornados, twisters, wind gusts