Paradise

“Woodland Walk” by Niamh Slack

 

my sylvan soul

would lie in woodland

green touched gold

by fingered sun

here to watch the life

I left behind continue

in proud regal skin

of bear and moose

who amble in their

monarch paths to

sparkling streams

that run their cold

and clean fresh

course between the

footsteps of my

years I’d hear the

birdsong I once sang

find further voice

my legacy in chorus

with blonde swarms

of bees and zephyr

breezes slipping

through the leafy

hands of sturdy boughs

the hardy bones that

gave me posture in

my treeless youth

when learning how

to stand against

unkindness of the

urban world and dream

this time of sweet

escape to sleep upon

soft needled thatch

that beds these shady

trails where all my

never meets forever

close to creatures

feral in their peace

with God and nature

joined in mind to

help me find exquisite

blest eternal rest

 

 

From my books Pieces of Wine and Legacies (vol. 2)

Turtle

“Painted Turtle” by Doug Sharpe

unlovely dignified bearing

longevity marking his shell

time and symmetry shaped

time to ponder to think

deeper down than survival

to grapple with quieter

mysteries questions of

corporeal existence to muse

he must surely have wisdom

his unhurried passage gives

pause to the river course

silences nether woods stills

forest creatures who each

give close listen attending to

even his least rasping words

such is reverence toward

age in the uncertain wild
 

From my book Pieces of Wine

November Morn

“Breath of Dawn” by Anna Armona

 

pieces of sky
rise up through the trees
carry light of the morning
awaken the forest
towering pines
stretch their arms
mountains yawn with
first murmurs of birdsong
brown moose and red deer
arise slowly from
soft-needled beds
already the fox and the hare
wide awake and alert
to the scent of each other
cold rivers emerge from
their hiding to take on
the clean brilliant glints
of another new sun

yes another new dawn
all the sights and the sounds
of circadium signal a
promising day in the offing
what more of a reason
could creatures like men
ever find to be thankful

 

 

(originally posted November 2015)

Red Eft

 

Photo by Bruce Lucas

 

 

alone among stones
vivid succulent prey
colored by poison

 

(originally posted January 2014)

Contoocook

“Contoocook River, Henniker New Hampshire” by Exponential Terrestrial Pedestrian

 

running north

cold and clean

bass and trout

flourish under

blue freewheeling

shadows of

eagle and heron

tall high-stepping

sure-footed moose

wade and wash

at the liveliest

whitewater fringes

of nursery pools

where spawned

salmon first learn

independence

and swim with

conviction that

here is a place

they can eagerly

live free or die

Birdhousing

“Country Birdhouses” by Martha Kisling

 

 

simple pine planks

sawn and fitted with

amateur joinery

finished in primary colors

slapdash garage homemade workbench technique

they hang high round my forest enclosure

crude rustic designs for my

unfussy visiting friends

those hard-weather creatures

who sing to me

words that I’m learning to translate

with help of a feisty old jay

knows the neighborhood

been here forever

has landed each limb-tip

escaped every squirrel and hawk

many hundred times over

a true kindred spirit

who never once judged

my unskilled outdoorsmanship

never made fun of my

concrete and asphalted roots

it’s him who decides

which bird gets what house

for nobody

not even me

would dare argue the point

 

Gloaming

“The Gloaming 2” by Randall David Tipton

deer emerge from the wood
wrens return to the nest
sensing wisely the safety
afforded by purpling sunset
when eyes of the predator
carry the least trace of trust

shadows gather like families
drinking the cool air of gloaming
that hour of graceful transition
a time to take stock mark the
blessings of nature detached from
the stresses of human-made life

Healing

“Mountain Rain” by Tracy Felix

quivers of wind
scudding clouds
treetops sway
fingers scratch
at grayed skies
blue jay hens
implore mates
return to the nest
squirrels scurry
frenetic to find
secure purchase
the white tail
make speed to
their hollows
the stone walls
alive with alarm
among chittering
chipmunks as I
stand erect in
my pain on a rise
outstretched arms
upturned face my
whole being set
begging to feel
sublime healing
of glorious rain

 

 

From my book Onionskin

Coyote

 

“Moon Talk” by Marion Rose

 

 

how he does love to howl

asserting his dominance

jaunty tweed wolf of

these New England woods

picaresque in his conduct

a thief in the henhouse

a scamp among cousins

he stands his ground

staunch against cougar or bear

and old country poets alike

he’s a family man

faithful monogamous

winter the season

of courtship and denning

belonging to him and his mate

fulvous fur paints him loudly

against the bright snow

easy target for hunters

his eyes show no fear as he

watches them watching him

I have no taste for such sport

after all he is everything

I always wanted to be

 

 

From my books Onionskin and Legacies (vol. 2)

Winter Woods

 

“Sunset in a Winter Wood” by Trudi Doyle

 

 

a quiet cathedral

walk in worship

along serene

snow-padded paths

among reverent

supplicant pines

breathe of rich

earthen incense

share gentle prayer

with its peaceable

creatures the wolf

and the moose

in their genuflect

moments raise

eyes to esteem

a cerulean sky

through the lean

latticed fingers

of white birch and

sycamore hear of

soft whispering

psalms on the

baldachin breeze

as it ruffles the

canopy cloth this

is heaven on earth

to be sure and

whatever one’s faith

it can’t fail to

instill veneration

 

 

From my book Onionskin