Last Commented Nature Poems (1,977)

I appeal to the Muse

How can I write a poem
When nothing happens to write about
Every day is the same
Apart from minor changes
You should go out more they say
I know but I can’t be bothered
I have this terible inertia
But It is not depression
It is a long time between meals
So I cook ,sometimes it is good
Sometimes it is so bad
a total waste.

So every day is different
If you make it so
Remember it is not real
Nothing which is changing can be real
in the absolute sense
So carry on my friends
This is not your natural home
You volunteered when you entered
the labyrinthine maze
There are many wrong turns
After a while you will look over the top
and see the goal
Taking freewill was always an option
How many million years ago?

A beauty born
Tender blossoms
Seldom is life
Pure in heart
Risen to occasions
Partially passed
Always inviting
Only for a season
Now gone past

The setting sun in all her glory
Made evening sky blush...
Hues of orange, red and gold splashed here
And dashed there with a bold stroke
Clouds stood still as she lowered herself
Into the mountains' cradle...
The birds sang a lullaby
And the crickets joined the chorus
Boys and girls, playing hopscotch
Called in to dinner
By tired moms
And dads crawled in from labor and toil
To be greeted with smiles of hope and love
Lamps were lit and curtains drawn
None had time to view the glory
That was the setting sun
Another day had come and gone

In the distance the darkness can be heard,
silent rumblings of days to become
nights constant companion.

The artist lay down her brush as
vermilion and crimson become red,
cobalt and imperial become violet,
burnt umber becomes, all.

Each sunset now silently memorized
each delicate leaf, recorded
each favorite book, reread
each shadows, grows.

Once clear becomes haze
minute optical changes in perception
brilliant o*gasm of light
and color
and texture.
Lead once again to shadows for
in the distance the darkness can be heard.

~SAS~

A tugboat whistles
Early morning dolphins play
A new day begins

~ JJF ~

Peaceful calm waters
Mistreated and defiled
World is not trash can


~ JJF ~

White orbe
High in the sky
Sunset red
Shines

Beam of yellow light
I stand and stare
Darkness envelopes my body
I stand and watch the setting sun

May 9, 2010

Drawn deep into the heart of the woodland...
a haunting melody stirs the calm night.
Drums pound till I can’t resist their calling.
Silhouettes blend by bonfire and moonlight.

She is but one dancing in the circle...
hands moving as if swimming thru stars.
Many faces shine in the fire’s glow...
figures adorned with veils and flowers.

Glistening bodies, mesmerized, chanting...
praising the earth for her bounty and seed.
May Pole ribbons again weave their magic.
The fields are blessed, as are those they will feed.

One green ribbon I add to the weaving;
my silent watch, then my whispered prayer.
“Great Mother Earth, I’ve abused thy blessings.
Forgive me the times I wasn’t aware."

The drums have awakened my sleeping heart.
I feel you inside me...your voice I hear.
Goddess Mother...blessed be...our Mother;
by the light of the moon, all is made clear.

By the moon’s light...all is clear.”

I join the circle of celebration.
I am one with the drums, long thru the night.
I am but one dancing in the circle;
silhouettes blend by bonfire and moonlight.

All is made clear in the moon’s light...

If it is impossible to promise
absolute fidelity,
this is because
we learn so much geography
from shifting of one body
on another.

If it is impossible to promise
absolute fidelity,
this is because
we learn so much history
from the lying of one body
on another.

If it is impossible to promise
absolute fidelity,
this is because
we learn so much psychology
from the dreaming of one body
of another.

Life writes so many letters
on the naked bodies of lovers.

What a tattoo artist...
What a ingenious teacher...

Is it any wonder we appear
like school children dreaming:
naked and anxious to learn?


~SAS~

Driving home, the sun beaming down
highlighting the Quantock foothills
a criss-cross quilt of very small fields
too steep for mechanical ploughs
worked still by man and shire horses

Bright gleaming yellow rape and mustard
interwoven with shades of brilliant green
a paradise for birds nesting in the hedges
tiny dots of white sheep scattered round
deep scarlet red of the fields laid to fallow

Ancient hills stun with captivating beauty
hardwood trees hundreds of years old
spread their sheltering branches wide
casting fat and long shadows ''neath their feet
grassy banks giving shelter to small animals

I gaze with delight filling up my soul
loving the fact these are my hills
that roll and soar around my village
with magical names for each hill
some very bare others full of heather

Reminding me of my native home
Will's Neck and Cothelstone
rearing up above the deep valleys
with nestling lakes and rivers
this place my place till I pass on

for pictures of these beautiful hills check the site below