Nature Poems
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Prologue
There is a statistic about the reality of the world heard years ago that makes an extremely dramatic observation of nature and humanity. Its significance is the surprise of the observation being true. There are over seven and one half billion people in the world, and the total weight of this mass of humanity is far exceeded by the total weight of all the ants in the world. Think about it! Scientists have done the modeling and algorithms and math, and the revelation puts the ants in an appreciably interesting place in nature when compared to our humanity.
Also, the following fact is true. Of all the countless trees in the world, there are trees that have exactly the same number of leaves. It is undeniable and statistically true, because of this observation: If there are more trees in the world than there are leaves on any one tree, then there must be at least two trees that have the same number of leaves. Observation and common sense indicate there are more trees in that status!
Life oozed out of the earth and waters endless epochs ago by circumstance and nature and the choice of God. Humans evolved and eventually enjoyed, lived, and survived in harmony with Nature before knowing the facts and math and science of Nature. Nature has done a fine job of managing itself for billions of years, and now with technology and seven and a half billion people we are giving Nature a nudge and trying to make the appropriate accommodations.
Following are some other observations about Nature.
Endless Moment
The water lilies are incandescent
In the sun’s morning eye
Bees hopscotch
From lily to lily
Certain of their journey
Precise in their intervention
And raping them gently.
Many frogs burp their contagious monotone song
Orchestrating a one note concert of sound
In pleasant counterpoint
To the sounds of winds and birds.
We are often enraptured and captivated by the spectacle
And became brother and sister
To the bee and the frog and the winds
For one endless moment.
Ocean
The sun’s bright single eye
Stares into mine
It is relentlessly unblinking
Forcing me to blink in obedience
The seagulls stick their heads
Into the wind
Hanging suspended
Treading the air effortlessly
And occupying the same cylinder of space.
Shells and not one of them whole or the same
Poke-a-dot the sand
The long fingers of the ocean’s grasp
Closes its fist
And clutches the beach
In its tender relentless handshake.
There is a piece of us
With traces of the primeval slime
That beats with the same rhythm as the ocean
Our genes are painted
The colors of all the millenniums
Of ocean that suckled us
Until we climbed out of its womb
But not out of its soul.
Moment of the Wave
I picked a wave
At some moment in its life
Limited by sight and the horizon
It was burned into my eye.
The wave took its position
Among endless multitude rows of waves
To capture the shore
Like kneeling nuns
Or steadfast precise lines of soldiers
Marching to victory or death.
I cupped my hands above my eyes
And stared into the soul of that wave
As it exhaled its lungs
And exploded on the shore
With boundless exhilaration
And no exhaustion
The waters will search a thousand shores
But the mathematics of probability
Dictates never reconstituted together again.
Each moment in life is unique
And each moment is both
A beginning and an ending
And creates the endless chain
Linked into a lifetime like the endless waves.
For the First Time Every Time
The mountains stand in single file
Across the horizon bent over and side by side
Genuflecting on each other’s shoulders
The clouds cross the mountains
Resting briefly on their peaks
To reshape and gather themselves up.
The rose holds itself in tightly fisted bulb
Awakening each dawn to a new sunshine
Tasting a gulp of morning dew
Responding to a softly stroking wind
Embracing the sky with opened arms
Dancing in the wind.
The fields are whitewashed in snow
And stitched into a quilt of roads
Running away from each other
Seamlessly stitching the earth
Into unique patterns
And redefining the boundaries
Of fields and forests and rivers.
We have seen it a thousand times
Endless times and yet for the first time
Every time.
Clouds
We watch a single cloud
Reshape itself inside our eyes
As it shuffles on its lazy journey
Across the ceiling of the earth
There is a brontosaurus
With its vast prehistoric head
Gulping large pieces of the sky.
Then before us a panorama
As the sky magic does its sleight of hand
And the cloud becomes the face of an old woman
Gazing down on the earth
For her one snapshot of eternity
The cloud turns itself inside out
To become a six fingered hand
Gently stroking the shoulders of the earth
The cloud relaxes from choreographing itself
And loses all the imagined or prescribed identities
And becomes itself.
It is now all cloud
The home of seagulls
And sun and rain and winds
And of our imagination
And fantasies.
Leaves I
Flotillas of leaves
Sail through the ocean of the sky
Charging and retreating
Uncertain who is friend or foe
Stampeding the earth like cattle
While still grasping on to patient trees
Vast unlaunched armadas of leaves
Wait impatiently
For the voice of the wind
To command them to be windblown to the battle.
Leaves II
The leaves fall
In quick uncertain flights
In their annual requiem
Paying seasonal homage
As they journey earthbound
To lay peaceful in the bosom of the earth
From which they were once suckled.
Leaves ride their ecological carousel
Relentlessly and predictably as our planet’s orbit
Sailing the seasons in expected fashion
More focused than a volcano
More curious than a meandering stream
Silently metamorphosing
From bud to leaf to dust
From bud to leaf to dust
They have found the secret of eternal life
By dying a thousand deaths to live forever.
Snow
The snow comes softly
With its silent voice
Tip toeing into the night
Dressing the trees as winter brides
Bending the branches of bushes
And making them genuflect
Into prayer like postures
And carpeting the earth
Wall to wall from horizon to horizon.
The Oak and River and Mountain
The old oak reaches out
With summered fingers
To embrace the young oak
That now stands knee high
To its first branch
The young oak still dreams of more summers
And one day giving birth to acorns.
The white watered river patiently
Receives the gentle stroke of the creek
Tapping at its shoulder
As it carves its life line in the earth
Joining the river
And searching for the sea
It has never seen.
The mountain gazes down
At the low hills sitting in the lap of its valley
Watching the hills tip toe
On earthen feet
To peak beyond the horizon
Defining another valley
For sheep and trees and summer grass
And frog filled ponds.
The oak and the river and the mountain
Recollect the image of their youth and smile gently
And some new tomorrow
Licked by winds
Tugged by the grasp of gravity
Hanging on to earth’s coat tails
On its uncertain journey
The oak and river and mountain
Will be no more
And yet will live forever.
Bees
The bees scribe a daily diary
In the pages of honeycombs
Imprinted in hard earned nectar
Preaching the sermon
Of the multitude of journeys from bud to bud
Suckling hyacinth and petunia and goldenrod
With an insatiable and desperate thirst.
Who among us is so dedicated
To record the events of our lives
And keep such a thoughtful journal
Of our journeys and accomplishments
The bee provides a living history of its deeds
Playing Boswell to his own life.
Harmony
The river must not stroke
One brook
With more tenderness than another.
The tree must not display
Some special loyalty
To selected boughs of green tongued leaves.
The mountain must love
All of its trees
And morn their deaths with equal fervor and concern.
The meadow must covet
Every windswept sun burnt flower
With equal passion.
All of the mathematics and physics
And science and art of nature
Must evolve and survive
In this cosmic broth
In harmony and in unison and together.
The Eastern Sky
The Eastern sky is in the midst
Of revealing another sunset
In deliberate choreographed steps
A bucket of purple splatters the northern ridge
A strip of apricot hangs suspended on the horizon
Linen bolts of yellow and orange
Define layers of clouds
Revealing new permutation of colors
As subtle as a Monet seascape.
The clouds chase the colors
Over the horizon
Above sentinels of pines
Finger pointing skyward across the lip of the horizon
As an al fresco breeze prods the pines
Into a stiff dance.
A parcel of the southern extent of eastern sky
As black as a Persian cat
Grumbles in soft cascading decibels of thunder
Rumbling like a distant freight train
Projecting fireflies of instant lightening
As the moon balances on the tip of a pine.
Precipitously the darkness melds
Into the now silent night sky.
Sunset and Hawk
The sun’s emblazoned palette embroiders the sky
Overwhelming and yet not overstated
With cantilevered layers of color
Juxtaposed against the deep purple black
Clouds snowboarding across the sky
From the east
Ambitiously chased by a lone hawk.
The darkness gallops to the western sky
Approaching the horizon
With the intensity of a herd of buffalo
The solitary hawk bisects the sky
Gliding and manipulating the currents
Mixing the colors of the sky in his wings
And bidding the day adieu
As a slice of blue anoints the mountain tops
And sprinkles of stars
Like asterisks of light populating the ebony blackboard.
In some silent and dark place
In the quiet of the night
The hawk finds solitary solace
And dreams of another day and another pursuit.
The Pond
The sun lays luminous on the ridge of the horizon
Tall pines prod the sky
Throwing ribbons of shadows across the pond
A blue heron the color of faded blue denim
Tip toes through the water
Facing the sun so his shadow
Does not forewarn fish of the clandestine stalking
A frog sings an aria to the pond
And after a long silence
Sings an a cappella reprise
Except for the harmony of a whispering wind.
The ebb and flow of the wind
Compels air currents to surf the pond
Creating furrows of small waves
Sending palm trees dancing
Their fronds like large green scimitars
Cut and stab the air
Their blades rattling.
A leisurely turtle finds no tedium
In his plodding a carefully plotted path to the pond
Decelerating by the water
Enjoying one last flush of the sun.
Winter’s Trees
Winter’s trees stand silhouetted
Against the canopy of the sky.
Their summer’s leafy skin
That once breathed air and sun
Have now joined the life to dust cycle
On the earth’s aging and ageless epidermis.
In summer the trees were forest
Their identities shared as one
Now in their winter nakedness
Each tree evokes its individuality
Standing alone
Like prehistoric birds ready for flight
Like long angular arms
Reaching out of the earth
With a thousand fingers
Scratching the bellies of winter clouds.
The Argentous Sky
The argentous sky is a tapestry
Of splintered light
Making Euclidian angles
With the shadows of wintered oaks
Whose knarred prehistoric arms
Reach skyward
Appearing to scratch the groin
Of the muscled towers of cumulus clouds.
Pastures of Snow
Pastures of snow
Lay stretched to the perimeter of the wood
Flowing to the horizon.
We trekked across the metallic fields
Making furrows
Sowing our footsteps in the snow
Crusted and crunching under each footstep.
Withered trees handshaking the sky
With their long arthritic fingers
Pointing upward in prayer
As we labor
Intoxicated by the cold air
Biting our noses and frosting eyelashes
Puffing cartoon-like balloons of frosted breath
The distant wisp of smoke beckons
Beyond the wood
Across the bridge
Upon the lofty hill
Sitting like a cupola
Above the ridge
Our home beckons.
As dusk paints the snow gray
The glistening dissipates into muted grays
The day departs swiftly and silently
And the pastures of snow must rest
Amidst the luminous dots of speckled stars
We are home.
As we feed the hearth with nurturing pine and oak
We are saturated in warmth
While the pastures of snow
Rest cold and silent
Surrounding our home
And embracing and carpeting the valley.
The Sun Arcs Across the Sky
The sun arcs across the sky
Balancing on the apex of a pine
Apparently defying the physics of its flight
Pursuing its celestially plotted journey
Defying physics by
Holding its breath on the horizon.
We hold the silence in the gentle fist of the moment
As if holding a bird in hand
And in the crescendo of silence
The world is mute
In the hushed stillness of the sunset
We are still and silent together
No pretense that the beauty of the moment
Is magnified in the sun’s solitude
As we try to grasp the moment and the memory.
We shall hold this moment
And by sheer will
Reach out and hold the sun
In the open clash of our hands.
Butterflies I
A butterfly jumps and pirouettes and flaps
Unpredictably and precipitously from leaf to leaf
And flower to flower
Completely absorbed in the moment
Full of its single-minded passion
As content as any living thing one could ever observe.
Born to be free and spending a lifetime exploring its freedom
Pursuing an adventurous uncharted journey
From somewhere to nowhere
And from nowhere to somewhere
From bud to bud
Sucking up nectar
Inspecting the perimeter of a bed of flowers
On a Magellan-like voyage
Exploring unknown territories.
Sometimes basking in the serenity
Of once unchartered venues
Blessed with sunshine and nectar
And the promise of another day and another journey.
Ode to the Pond
The duck patiently parades around the clandestine nest
During a sedentary afternoon and a midday pause
She convenes and engulfs a full clutch of eggs
Precisely one dozen
Hidden in lakeside shadows among opaque shades of green
Encircling the pond
Earlier the duck counted another sunrise
During its first peek above a distant hill
Awaiting ultimate liberation from the nest
Mindlessly watching water bugs hopscotch across the water
She provides a threatening quack
To those less informed of the treasure being guarded.
The frog admires his reflection
Rendering vocal gymnastics slightly out of tune
Singing a chorus or two of an aria to the pond
Taking lazy afternoon encores
Believing his empowerment as night approaches
And the sun falls across the long slit of horizon
Dropping a canopy of darkness on the pond
The frog sings a reprise and puts the sun to sleep.
A ladybug tiptoes through twigs
Leaving microscopic imprints of dust
Delineating the journey
She is silent except for the imperceptible
Sound of tiny wings bouncing off of a breeze.
A single and lonely bird
With a limited musical repertoire
Provides a certain repetitive and monotonous tweet
Content being a lesser participant in the orchestra
Of cicadas and frogs and more vocal birds and winds
All serenading the pond
In unison and with a pleasant dissonance
They are not all on the same page of music
And there is a cacophony of melodies and chords
Asynchronously and beautifully orchestrated.
The trees and shrubs
Participate in defining the forest
Embracing the pond
Winds give voice to the whispering pines
As they chatter and sway to the nocturnal rhythm
In a moonless night as black as ebony.
Butterflies II
A rosary of dew drops gently bead the blossoms
And run the length of the stem
A few days ago these blossoms were more imagination
And expectation than reality
But this new morning has given birth to a new day
And new blossoms
And another birth of sun and sky.
A butterfly swims through the sunshine
With its staccato strokes
Baptizes the blossoms
Sucking nectar in microscopic gulps
Swimming through the sunshine
Negotiating a new journey
Living another perfect day
Seeking new blossoms
And the endless invention of a new day.
Winter Has Stayed Too Long
Winter has stayed too long
Overstaying its welcome
Like an overbearing overstaying guest
There is a winter madness upon me
That creeps into my thoughts and my being
I shall welcome winter no less when it appears next year
But for now
Enough.
But my memory shall not forget the history of winter’s sojourn
Patience for winter is now exhausted
Before the full measure of its stay is exhausted
Our winter love affair will be reborn again
I cannot swallow or ignore or conceal
My impatience for its departure.
Winter did not arrive as an unwelcomed guest
With too much laundry
And no definition of its stay
It now burns my mind blank
It is not what winter is so much
As what it is not
That plagues the mind.
Winter is not ladybugs and mosquitoes
And the early forsythia and hyacinths
The warm hand of the sun scrubbing one’s face
The sun’s blessing on rainy afternoons
Long days with aimless dreams
Joyfully unplanned
Spent indifferently and deliciously.
This monologue and diatribe against winter
Betrays my impatience
Forgive my impatience
Winter shall be loved again
After another orbit of the sun.
Ode to the Willow Tree
Willow willow weeping willow
You once stood tall and straight
Guarding the pond with a cautious eye
Do you ever wonder about your fate
Your once leafy arms are now weathered
Your trunk now genuflects on bended knees
You once stood straight and strong and tall
Among the finest of all the trees
Many now speculate and conjure
With some trepidation about your demise
You are brother and sister to all willows
We look at you with sympathetic eyes
You share the manifest destiny of every willow
Across the spectrum of history and time
Once purveying battles and kings and harvests
On your willowed crowns the sun did shine
You have shared your shaded sanctuary
For ibis and wood storks and butterflies
Nestling beneath the midday sun in your refuge
Your branches have been generous and wise
Destiny speaks: from leaf to dust from leaf to dust
You are much too young to join the great beyond
Your heart is strong but less able and more limited
We shall mourn should you leave the pond
Who shall record when your life began
On this majestic pond where you were born
We cannot predict your journey or fate
Your untimely loss we would forever morn
You once stood tall and majestic
By the water’s lapping tender edge
Surely you would be missed by every tree
And every flower and every hedge
Wind and birds have whistled through your branches
You have lived your part and never sinned
Breezes have blown and tangled your leafy hair
As you sing your symphony of birds and wind
You have survived hurricanes and lightening
Bending and genuflecting to their power
But you stand tall when the sun arises
To greet another sweet sunrise hour
And so when hand on ax or saw shall appear
Reluctantly on some new tomorrow
We shall weep for our weeping willow
And share with you our ageless sorrow
We shall wonder when on that day
The pond no longer shares your willowed crown
And wonder again who decided
To go and fucking cut you down.