I am so tired of ice and snow.
I’d like a way to make them go.
I’d like to send them straight to hell,
But that would cool things off down there.
And when hell freezes over, well,
What happens then it’s hard to tell,
For lots of folks have said they’d do
All kinds of things if that came true.
So, darn, I guess I have to wait;
Ice and snow melt at slow rate.
But if they last much longer here,
I still may send them straight down there.
Purest of water, fresh from clouds
That brushed the mountain peaks,
Raining down and gushing round
As avenues it seeks
In which to flow unhindered
Down to plains that wait below
For fresh, pristine refreshment
Only mountain streams bestow.
It’s been raining here for two whole days, so I thought it was only fitting that I write about rain. Since I’m in a poetic mood, I decided I’d give myself a little workout and do one haiku, one cinquain, and one simple iambic pentameter verse about that subject.
HAIKU
Everything is gray.
Rain hanging like a curtain.
No sun peeping in.
CINQUAIN
Raining!
Again today!
I just have to complain:
All is gray and wet and dreary!
Boring!
IAMBIC PENTAMETER VERSE
Another boring day of endless rain.
We don’t need this much water every day.
Sunshine is now a fading memory.
The birds won’t even come out now to play.
I know some tribes have dances that they do
To bring the rain when grounds are parched and bare.
I wonder if there is another dance
To end the rain and turn the weather fair.
Country lanes at Christmas —
For the traveler, such a chore.
Snow encrusted, rutted lanes
That make manuv’ring poor.
It’s hard to see the shoulders
And the middle line is blurred.
For traffic in the other lane
No ample room’s assured.
And drawing towards the end of day,
When light is running low,
Traversing snowy country roads
Mandates my going slow.
But I’ll continue trav’ling down
Those snowy country lanes,
To friends and fam’ly, waiting me.
It’s worth whatever strain.
Besides, those Christmas country roads
Through woods and fields snow-clad
Resound with quiet so unique
It makes my heart quite glad.
They seem to wear a special peace
That blankets their domain.
And settles over me when I’m
On snowy, country lanes.
photo courtesy of Reijo Telaranta @ pixabay.com
~~~
A Cardinal sits with me at end of day.
It’s been a sad, unhappy time,
And I have lost my way.
He seems content to stay a while and rest,
And my front porch is cool with shade,
Sun moving to the west.
On other days I’ve seen him flit and fly
And labor quite industriously
For food that caught his eye.
Those days he’d pick at wings and clean and preen,
Then dart away and back again,
Quite nervous did he seem.
He changed his stance and cocked head constantly,
Not holding still a moment long;
He agitated me.
But, suddenly, this eve he’s come to sit.
As if he knew my sorrowful plight —
That I was in this pit.
And now and then he sings aloud his song.
But when he stops a while,
For more I long.
I’m sure his day is done; he should head home,
But here he sits beside my chair,
Just so I’m not alone.
His beauty, I have finally come to see,
Is unsurpassed: his ruby hue,
Wings black-edged perfectly.
In truth he is a masterpiece of life:
Each part of him a sculptor’s dream,
Down to his beady eye.
A good half hour he’s stayed and felt at home.
And looks right at me now and then,
To say, “You’re not alone.”
I sigh and realize I am content.
I close my eyes; begin to smile.
This is what Jesus meant.
He urged us to behold the birds of air
And take a lesson from each one
About His love and care.
“Yes, Jesus, I’m at peace in You at last.
This little bird you sent to me
Has fulfilled his task.
So take care of him, Lord and keep him strong,
And send him out to other souls
Who need to hear his song.”
Then opening my eyes, I seek my friend.
But he has flown while I have prayed,
His mission at an end.
“Look at the birds of the air! They don’t worry about what to eat — they don’t need to sow or reap or store up food — for your heavenly Father feeds them. And you are far more valuable to him than they are.” (Matt. 6:26 TLB).
Please, won’t you come along with me
Up river in the fall?
We’ll float at leisure, passing woodlands
Burnished, thick, and tall.
We’ll watch thick clouds give way to sun
That breaks horizon’s crest
And choose a course that guarantees
Delightful Autumn Rest.
~~~
photo courtesy of Larisa Koshkina @ pixabay.com
~~~
photo courtesy of Happy_life @ pixabay.com
Wild and free they fly;
Intoxicating grandeur:
Autumn’s final fling.
photo courtesy of Couleur @ pixabay.com
~~~
`
(Thank you to my friend and favorite photographer: Terry Valley.)
photo: Terry Valley, Visions Seen Photography
~~~
photo: Terry Valley @ Visions Seen Photography
~~~
Daisies are the happiest flower in this world.
photo: Terry Valley @ Visions Seen Photography
~~~
I love the scent of meadows warmed by sun,
And bumble-bee’s mesmorizing hum;
Hedgerows heavy, looking overgrown
Around fields ripening from seeds well-sown;
Sky of deepest technicolor blue;
A solitary, gliding bird in view.
Of such rich pleasures what else can I say?
It’s just another dandelion day.
photo: Visions Seen Photography
~~~
Hidden
By clustered leaves
Left over from last fall,
I found three quiet daffodils:
It’s Spring!
~~~
I blow where I will, and no one can still
My movement.
I rustle the trees and gust where I please
Each moment.
I sweep ‘cross the plains and often drive rain
In torrents.
Raging through canyons, I roar with abandon
And torment.
But sometimes I play; come April or May,
I’m a teaser.
On soft summer nights enrobed in moon’s light,
I’m a pleaser.
I’m gentle and warm, and sweethearts I charm
Into romance.
Then on to the fall; with crisp breeze I call
Leaves to dance.
I carry the scents: burning leaves, bonfires spent,
Ripened fruit.
But I bring colder days, frigid nights on the way;
Find those boots.
For I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and the temps will be tough;
I’ll bring snow.
Though the drifts may be bad, children’s hearts will be glad:
School’s a “no.”
Through the rafters I’ll sing, and my bite – it will sting
For a while.
But in no time at all, I will bring springtime’s thaw;
Gardens smile.
I lift birds on the wing, and when I gently sing,
It brings rest.
I am wind, and I’m thrilled that I cannot be stilled
Or supressed.
photo courtesy of CCrowder @ pixabay.com
~~~
My day
Started out gray.
But sunlight filtered through,
And, taking over, changed my day
To gold.
photo: © Terry Valley
~~~
POETRY BY AHYOKA 