acrylic on canvass
Over the pond
Where solemn lilies float free
Hangs the willow tree.
Tag Archives: nature
THE BOBCAT
Hanging on the edge of sleep
I rise from my bed find some ease
within the garden outside my door,
the place where 5 a.m. feels safe and sure.
There I rest burdens hidden in dreams.
While standing in the doorway I see
a young bobcat strolling confidently
across the patio to where I stand silently.
He pauses to stop and stare, ignoring me,
beyond the neighbor’s fence, and there
curiosity holds him still.
My presence brings him no distress
while my hair rises on its own
and I glory while blanching at Nature’s success
in claiming my garden for her own.
Companionable moments I find with my feline guest.
Then, he turns and fluidly departs
taking with him a piece of my heart.
He follows the stepping stones I have laid
to guide my feet along the way
around the birdbath path to the tree-line’s edge
where he blithely disappears into darkness,
where no paths lay that I can see beyond the flower beds.
Now, my fearful dreams slide away, too,
into the tree-line of my own bed,
where unreal fears are now easily shed.
Filed under POETRY
HAIKU
WEEPING WILLOWS
Sadly drooped willows
like sorrowful young widows
cry into the stream.
Filed under POETRY
BIRD BATH BEAT
Spirited sparrows and wrens so dull and drab
mingle with cardinals beautifully clad.
Sultry robin pulls closed her robe
leaving her breasts cleverly exposed.
Flicker rounds on the oldest tree
and begins a steady beat.
Sweet arias of birdsong lift to compete,
their voices familiar and strong
while mourning doves amble along,
chaperones staying and swaying in step.
Listening and watching such beauty I wept.
Each bird’s note has a place in the chorus
of avian talent displayed before us.
Each wing and beak in flighty choreography
tells a breathtaking story of bird glory.
Insects hiding beneath dark-dank spaces
have no chance amidst such diving graces.
The sun arises each morn as do I
to enjoy their dance before birds take to the sky.
Filed under POETRY
NIGHT SNOW ON DAFFODILS
It snowed again during the shortening night;
A staggering and mighty sight
to those who yearn for Spring sun.
I, among them, am one.
The daffodils, though, delight
standing as tall and as resolute as they might
to bear the weight of our expectation,
cheering us on heartily in exultation
that winter’s quiet and tight hold on us all
yet allows the cheerful to stand tall,
and welcome with unabashed delight
another snowfall during the night.
And, somehow, the world, again, seems right.
Filed under POETRY
HOAR FROST
Frost rises before dawn and flees the garden bed
before Sun can catch her in her splendor.
Faster than squirrels she runs across fields and rivulets
leaving white crystals trailing behind in a momentary glittery shine
across the folds of orange and gold left by falling leaves
that shimmer in the slight breeze of Sun-warmed air
to prepare us for the day to come.
Each morning I rise and try to catch Frost by surprise,
but she is too slick, too quick; and I, now too slow.
She laughs in my face with icy breath until I am so cold
my limbs tremble as the those of the trees shedding leaves.
I shed my earthly dreams as frost awakens me to journeys ahead.
Frost is a fleeting thing, reminding me that I am, too.
Frost has turned my hair white; it seems, overnight.
And so I say, “Good morning, Frost.”
And she replies, “Good morning, you.”
Such days are numbered, and too few.
Filed under POETRY
CLOUDY DAYS
The rain came during the night.
Soft and silent blessings fell
to drench the earth
where mankind dwells.
But they slept on unaware
that helpful forces left a gift
to soften the soil
of hardened hearts.
They rose with the dawn,
faint light clouded over,
and misunderstood such peace
brought a chance to subside
the blazing heat of anger
in fearful eyes
scorched
by staring at the sun
of a too-bright false sunrise.
Cloudy days ahead
to soften the blow
when they awaken to the lies
that they have been told.
Every artist knows
one sees clearer
on cloudy days
when truth is crisp
despite the haze.
Or maybe,
because of it.
Filed under POETRY
CHRONICALLY WELL
The chronically ill can teach us a lot.
their only role, their only goal
is to become well.
To be well they must be good.
Goodness stems from the earth’s swell
offering direction and protection
from heat and cold, dampness and mold
by rules of nature ancient and bold.
Rules which seamlessly flow
from stars above and earth below.
Walking barefoot and bareheaded
begins one’s instruction, and forms connection
to the healing power of universal affection
for all life willing to know, and grow
into a being of energy full of light and aglow
within every cell and coursing stream
of willpower and desire to hold each hour
in sacred trust and wondrous love.
To the chronically ill it is clear one must
transcend pain and overcome fear with trust;
to value only what is now, and what is here.
To be not chronically ill; but, chronically well.
THE GLEN
The geese know the way
beyond the pond’s gaze
onto paths which cannot contain them
to stay within its bounds.
In formation they travel
stopping traffic in their wake;
Mom in front, goslings next,
and dad takes up the rear.
We all wait.
Then, wait longer.
No horns blare.
We have learned to live in peace
at the speed of geese,
patient with one another
in this small space,
in this neighborhood of grace.
Filed under POETRY
Birds in Flight
Filed under art work
annarino writes 