Mother and Her Nature and Beauty

What beauty can be…

a lone mushroom

a barren tree

or some ragged weeds.

Mother and her nature do not judge my scars…

skinned lines that carried me so far.

Nor am I aware of discretions while I scamper towards her majesty.

….

I can stammer my words of poetry

often erratic

often loose like a noose.

Yet, Mother and her nature…decide my needs.

Helping Turtles Across the Road

So few are my misguided thoughts on religion…whilst in the arms of a golden, August day.

I could walk forever into the unknown…bathing in the silver lining of a sunflower’s intoxicating…glow.

I could even dare all tomorrow’s…in the deep, stare of a steer’s gaze.

Now and always, deep in the musky, wild…sorrow weakens.

Worry becomes less bold.

I understand all that is not mine….because the stillness of humid air tells me so.

Crab Apple perfumes my mind…

I live to let go.

All this and so much more…

helping snappers across Morrill road…

Is the only religion I need to know.

Tomorrow from the Trees

Fast and current the muddied water

a flutter by,

a brown cardinal,

singing, heroically from a petrified tree.

Tomorrow will not be there for me.

Tomorrow will not be there for me.

In the dance of a well tuned song,

the grackle,

the squirrel,

in fury,

sing,

Tomorrow will not be here for me.

Tomorrow I will not sing to thee.

A Question for Nature

I wonder what nature sees of me…when pretending not to be?

Does she see me as a threat to her luminosity?

Do the robins nest further up a shady pine?

Is my manner of awe and unsure footing a hindrance to her placating design?

As my oar settles into her complacently, mysterious, waters…does she sense that my intentions…are unkind?

One foot after another, I go back to her response.

The whistle through broken limbs and the frigteningly, gothic music that descends.

If there be admiration, it is one sided.

In nature’s woods…it is just pretend.

Lily

The warmth of lily pads had beckoned me back.

Had I known I lost my way…would I have come here to stay?

So far down the broken walls and Morrill Ponds…I had strayed.

A graceful, swoop of Blue Heron, caught my entanglements and, my manner of being easily…dismayed.

Hidden inlets and their flowers…had rosined up the bow to a bullfrog’s song.

Sun bathing Snap Turtles felt no need to run from my dusty, collective thoughts.

In the echo of my dusty self indulgence….

Could it be I just needed to get out of my own way?