i.
Thunder snow
rare glimpse of winter anger
snow angels disappear in gales.
ii.
Softly swirling snow
heaven’s hushed lullaby
midst city streets and sounds.
iii.
She stands by her window
wrapped in color splashed comforter.
Forehead on cool pane, eyes closed,
her thoughts begin to drift
like falling snow on once green mounds.
Photo: From our window…looking out on Boston as snow piles up on ground, trees and window sill.
outside my window
snow falls silently
large delicate flakes
slow motion cascading white
We rented an Iowa farmhouse in 1973, in the midst of loess hills and cornfields. The acreage included a silo, machine sheds, pigs’ digs, and a large barn with 1876 chiseled into the fading red wooden door. On this particular January night, in the midst of a howling blizzard, we heard thumping at our door. Cat, our inherited outdoor farmcat, sat on the stoop. Bulging pregnant belly of yesterday gone, her teats hung low. We offered a bowl of warm milk as George donned winter gear. He set out to follow Cat and insure her new kittens were safe, protected from the storm. She led him in and out of buildings, round that farm for thirty plus minutes. He finally gave up the hunt and came inside, looking like a freeze-frame from Dr. Zhivago. Mucous frozen mustache. Beard turned prematurely white with snow. We feared the worse. And then . . . some weeks later, on a clear, crisp and sunny day, Cat paraded by our window with a smirk on her face. Six little ones scurried behind.
winds howl, snow pelts earth
nature’s creatures burrow deep
wait for calming sun
It’s haibun Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Toni asks us to write about a night we remember. The haibun form includes a paragraph or two in prose (must be nonfiction) followed by a haiku. Photo is in fact, the old farmhouse mentioned in the haibun. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop by and imbibe some poetry or share your memories of one special night!
Europeans settle rugged land,
in truth, unsettled. Balance disturbed.
Predators introduced to cure a plight
became the plight.
Land and species suffered
well-meaning mistakes.
One man saw and understood,
wed himself to land and a special mate.
Rejuvenated forest. Fought for,
and won, two marine sanctuaries.
Nesting birds depleted,
retreated to his cove.
Aptly named, Helps worked.
Natural burrows plundered,
extinction threatened,
he transformed bits of wood and rock
into havens above the ground.
Feathered flipper friends prospered.
Mrs. Helps built predator traps,
nourished wounded birds to health.
Children count and document.
Pale blue chicks hatch and grow,
march each year into sea,
return to breed again.
We are privileged visitors,
two among sixteen this day.
Ride rugged roads cross mountain tops,
marvel at miniature ships below.
Hills and seas, aquamarine and greens,
panoramic challenge to peripheral skills.
Sheep scamper as we descend,
his valley tall with forests proud.
We peek into nesting havens,
met by quiet, watched by trusting eyes.
Some sit upon their eggs,
others sit, little ones wedged beside.
And we witness this miracle of life.
Because one man and his wife,
dared to say enough.
Sacrificed wealth as many know it.
live a simple life upon and with the land
guardians to an eco system.
Their love given to generations.
Come take their tour and see their work
and you shall leave with wonder in your heart.
One extended family
in New Zealand’s awesome land.
Protectorates for nature
as it used to be.
On our amazing journey; now in New Zealand. We had the privilege of spending an afternoon at the Pohatu Penguin Sanctuary, located in Flea Bay near Akaroa, NZ. Mr Francis Helps and his wife (and children now; and eventually his grandchildren) do amazing work to protect the land and insure the Australasian Little Blue Penguins continue to survive. They also have 1,000 sheep on their land – have planted and are guardians of native forest. Such an amazing day. Such a dedicated family and a truly meaningful mission. This narrative poem is their story and dedicated to them. These small creatures are now thriving rather than disappearing.
White foam trailing path before me
eyes gaze beyond horizon line,
mind wanders with the sea.
This wake marks our past.
Silent, alone, I rest,
succumb to waves of calm.
Singaporean national treasure,
color profusion midst verdant green.
Spider orchid spins tendrils
from delicate parasol top.
Lemon veined apricot petals.
Two-toned purple-whites.
Violet spattered faces
with sweet white noses.
Beauties preen in mirrored path.
Come ye visitors, cross land and sea.
This orchid splendor shall mesmerize thee.
Photos taken yesterday at Singapore’s Botanical Gardens, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, in their National Orchid Gardem section. Singapore is one of the leading orchid exporters in the world. On a personal note, asking my readers to bear with me. Using an iPad while traveling — not as adept at posting with it.
First time in another world,
a magical low-tide place.
Barrier reef, bared each day,
encloses wandering sea turtles.
Alone at dawn, I smile as rounded gentle heads
break the surface, breathe, and disappear.
Stepping gingerly from dividing ledge
I ease myself into cool waters.
Push off, arms spread wide in wonder
head down with snorkel gear.
I float. Watching. Waiting . . .
in this absolutely quiet place.
Magnificent beings glide by,
slow motion ballet of graceful power.
Heads and legs, speckled green-browns,
protrude from massive solid backs.
Finning wide of me, angling below me
as if I am not there, yet I am. Mesmerized.
Occasionally one peers at me,
our eyes lock and I gasp within my soul.
I am afloat, savoring stillness,
experiencing a mystical time.
Kelly hosts Poetics today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, and asks us to write a narrative poem about a “first.” Photos: the “back yard” of a rental house we stayed at three times in Hawaii, the Big Island. Out of the way, it has its own “pool” of tropical fish, the body of water at the bottom of this photo. Dug by the owners, it has a wire mesh grate that allows the ocean in and out but keeps the amazing tropical fish they’ve stocked it with, within the pool. Snorkeling there was amazing too. I’m standing greeting the dawn…and the next body of water you see is what’s called Champagne Pond which snakes back, for quite some distance on the left, out of sight. You barely see the pile of rocks/barrier, exposed at low tide, separating the pond from the ocean proper. Two small photos, I took with a cheap, throw-away underwater camera. Large one is a postcard. We’ve not been back for many years but it is a “first” I shall never forget.
Clouds slung over land
like a prayer shawl before the dawn.
They cling softly to earth’s shoulders,
until sun begins to warm her soul.
Mist slowly slips away
leaves moisture upon her limbs,
like tear drops shed in supplication
seeking grace for this day.
Monday’s quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words) for dVerse, that virtual pub for poets, where today Kim is tending bar and folks are writing about clouds. Bar opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop on over and imbibe in more clouds. Photos from a past trip to Alaska.
…and I shall imbibe her beauty…
shape-shifter clouds, wisps and trails…
lemon sherbet sun with melting rays…
pink sand beaches beguiled by sea glass…
aquamarine waters, clear and bright…
yellow kiskadees sing to dawn
as loquats plump for picking…
oh Bermuda, I do savor thee
Photos taken in Bermuda this past February and March. Here, the loquat are just ripening. Posted for Open Link Night at dVerse, a virtual pub for poets. Bar opens for OLN today at 3 PM — stop on over and read what others have to share!
She lifted her can-can skirt
for all the world to see,
well beyond a peek-a-boo look!
Layers of crimson and gold
bedazzle with voluptuous shimmers
as high kicks accompany a stiff breeze!
How I love the fall season in Boston! Another razzle-dazzle poem for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets! Come see what other folks have written to bedazzle you!
