In this post, I've included several of my poems, all reflections on the natural world.
Haiku
(With apologies to Japanese masters)
An inviting perch
Feisty ones
vie for foothold
Hummingbirds dining
I brush off the webs
But they
always reappear
Spiders do their stuff
Brown soil, thrusting grass
Heat rising from the earth’s skin
Tennessee summer
And from the
sky . . .
Far down our canal we spied a
black cloud,
startling, ominous.
It grew nearer and shattered
into hundreds of cormorants
who skimmed along the calm
surface
and settled in to take a look
around
before they ducked and dived
to make their catch, tasty
and alive.
Now we saw pelicans in their
wake,
ponderous, huge amidst the
churning water,
snatching fish too large for
smaller gullets.
Soon egrets came in dazzling
white array,
posing with regal grace on
piers.
Choosy, we thought, until we
saw one
die before our eyes with neck
distended
from the greedy burden in its
craw.
The great blue herons cruised
in last
on the path of their heralds,
then sank down on grassy
banks
to wait with the dignity of
rank
for meals brought on a tray.
Above the fray, the seagulls
screamed and laughed
assured they’d soon have the
scraps.
Three mornings this spectacle
occurred,
then stopped, never that
season to return.
Those in the know said these
forays
stripped the waters of
breeding fish
retreating from the chilling
bay.
Guided by their instinctive
need
they met their doom
on the quiet canal
while the birds shall live
another day.
Seeing the
Right Way
Sitting in the shuttered room
I stare at the bright screen
trying hard to commit
to memory the details
of head, leg, beak, and tail.
But colors swim in my brain,
blue throats, red heads,
brown breasts,
throwing me off the form
I want so much to keep.
Colors don’t define, our leader
claims;
essential shapes are the
clue.
In the natural frame
of wetlands and woods
I look for flutters of wings,
shapes that will tell,
flashes of forms, bodies
that stand out so well
the experts claim.
Gripping glasses I scan
the very place my naked eye
had seen the shape.
But through lenses lost;
branches, grass, leaves
become a hiding place.
Too late, the others cry:
it’s gone away.
Focus on the twigs nearby
or other reference points
to find your visual prey.
Practice should help me sort
the shapes that I should see,
yet I don’t think it will.
I know my right brain needs
to always find the whole
and keep it in my head.
I see the larger scene
and fail in small details.
Is it wrong to liken this to
that
and so neglect the
differences?
Leyland Cypress
The thick clay soil resisted
and took an axe to deepen
enough to bed the saplings,
a spate of tender roots.
First planted,
the four looked lost
scattered across the lawn
betraying no purpose.
But as the years went on
they flourished and grew
spreading their arms
as guards from chuffing
winds.
They stand tall now
trees for shade and secrets
defying passing, prying eyes
to get a glimpse into our
lives.
Camps for birds to huddle in
safe from predators above or
below
closets for birds on chill
nights
who stream out with the
morning light.
They drop no leaves or flying
seeds
no pods or cones to stumble
on
they groom themselves as if
to say
we live for you and others to
enjoy
The Sea
(Excerpted from my novel Murder at Toll House)
I sail before the wind
Spray lapping the gunnels
Licking my cheeks
Before me is a wilderness of
waves
Clean and pure
Calling me home
If I would drown
Could that brine
Clean my heart
And clear my head
To perfect ease
Like it scrubs the bottom of
the boat
I sail before the wind
