1/10/19 Nature (at rest)

Atop the A-frame cabin with the rough, ruddy shingles
A great blue heron sits, wings tucked away, beak swiveling
To regard the still waters of the pond. The bullfrogs call
For mates, the dragonflies buzz and flit. Bass lounge in the murky waters,
Waiting for anything to drift their way,
And mink sleep secure in their sandy warrens.

In the office building, halfway across the world,
a family of kangaroo mice huddle together in a hole
gnawed into a mess of  wiring and metal fiber.
As strange as it may seem,
All is natural.

National Poetry Month Day 27

The viper has pride in his venom
The lioness admires her claws
The hawk shrieks delight as she’s diving;
In silence we dwell on our flaws.

The bee knows his lot is to gather
The fox sees the world as a game
The vulture is cruel but needed;
In darkness we’ve all lost our aim.

The flower brightens the furrows
The goldfinch sweetens the air
The spiders are spinning quite softly;
In stillness we dream
if we dare.

Farm Hands (4/9/18)

My hands scratch clay-rich dirt
As did my father’s, and his, and his;
With roughshod nails on leather fingers,
Long but without slenderness
Made solid by the task.

Those hands hefted these same loads,
Bore the seeds of past promise,
(These planted shells have always grown)
Pushed the same heavy plows and
Tamed the land with selfsame toil;
But on the earth lusts for our labor,
With gruesome gulps she
Grows these fields.

I put aside these cloying thoughts
And scratch another seed in.

The Killdeer (National Poetry Month Day 8)

Mild meadows hold her clutch;
small beak searching out the brush
as grass bends low by crafty touch.

She spies the eyes burning bright;
but valiant wings dare no flight
she flees the nest, chirping fright.

Her stilted legs lack for grace
but they bear her far apace;
far behind, snouts seek the trace.

Cornered she turns on her foes
teeth agleam in pearly rows;
and back through the skies she goes