The Morning Veil

 

Photo Credit to "Mandy Lea"

The Morning Veil

Sun breaks through the morning veil

bathes the flowers in golden hale,

florets rise with arms outstretched

embrace their God of life and death.

Rising higher, to mountain row

radiant praise, essence aglow

sunflowers sing their glorious tune,

a cycle of life, by sun and moon.

There they stay until sun goes down

hushed to sleep on silver ground,

bathe in moon beams, dew and rain

and wait for God to come again.

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On the Open meadow, I can see forever

 

Photo Courtesy of Si-On

On the Open meadow, I can see forever

Verdant plains so lush and fair

intoxicating greens fill the air

respiring meadow, catches the eyes

mist has lifted, under azure skies.

Wind picks up, performs with the hay

in perfect sonata the two of them play

above the chords are freedom and flight

that sing of companionship to the light.

Off in the distance the tide is leaving

beryl oceans convey my breathing

an opus of life in perfect communion

my daily routine with natures reunion.

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Estuary’s Gift

 

Estuary’s Gift

Nebulous skies break the morning,

foggy mist swells the lake in white,

gently wakes the sleeping angels,

that came in late and spent the night.

Tranquil whispers greet the light,

as billowed blankets gently fade,

reveals kept secret behind the clouds,

the perfect painting god had made.

Excitement builds as sun grows stronger,

snow geese prepare to leave the lake,

form a crescent on the water,

before departure they will make.

As sunrise breaks the mountain top,

a beam of gold reveals the way,

and leads the geese in rising song,

as they prepare to leave the bay.

A crash of thunder greets the air,

the beat back of ten thousand wings,

that breaks the stillness on the lake,

and drives the rising song they sing.

Wings beat faster, hearts are racing,

they carry my essence in tow,

raise me up in celebration,

with estuary’s gift bestowed.

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Garden Silhouette

Garden Silhouette

Silent world with eyes awake,

compels the morning glory,

as silhouettes grace the plants,

amongst the gardens kauri.

Where, memories wear your smile,

of lavender in full bloom,

while twilight shines your essence,

across the sunlit room.

Purple pansies, yellow flair,

capture moments of your soul,

pink petunias, orchids white,

lush in life to make you whole.

Petals shimmer in the wind,

giving voice to your spirit,

intuitions, butterflies,

to any who comes near it.

Everything comes back to life,

in the garden that you made,

although you may not be here,

your essence clearly stayed.

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About this Poem: This poem is dedicated to my mother who loved gardening and could make anything grow. When she was alive, the inside and outside of her house was covered in plants and flowers. Every time I visited her in spring and summer, it felt as if I stepped into a Thomas Kinkade painting filled with exotic colorful flowers, all so vibrant and intoxicating with life, that you could feel the energy all around you. The magic she created, will always fill my thoughts and senses when I think about her. Today, my daughter started a flower garden and I swear my mother was helping. 😊

*Note: Kauri is a hearty tree that can live 2,000 years

Breathing

 

Breathing

Long cool drafts upon the moors,

claims and bonds, provides the cures,

respires life, day and night,

natures breath in wisps of light.

Ghosts of Winters Past

 

Ghosts of Winters Past

The morning breaks, fire’s going,

excitement builds, for it’s snowing,

shovels readied to dig us out,

while snow is falling all about.

A picture-perfect Christmas card,

the winter scene that was our yard,

a country home all painted red,

on snow white canvas was our stead.

Our lives enriched by falling snow,

in Ayer’s Cliff, not long ago,

with Rita’s ghost who came along,

her conscious essence, warm and strong,

Pleasant smiles, and little feet,

with woodstove stoked, providing heat,

outside, our feeders, gathered birds,

their song of thanks, beyond our words.

On shoveled paths, the ice rink made,

with footprints where the children played,

tall snow forts built, and tunnels dug,

with laughter, snowmen, Frosty's mug.

Reminds me of my childhood time,

these snowstorms from our winter clime,

goes back to all the things we did,

the winters when I was a kid.

Like hockey games played on the rink,

till bodies froze and couldn’t think,

stayed out all day till we were told,

to come inside from winters cold.

Where snow suits hats and gloves were dried,

our clothing changed and re-supplied,

cocoa made to help refuel,

for toboggan runs at the school.

But in this little town ago,

old traditions still held in tow,

an evening’s ride, all bundled up,

a family outing after sup.

Horse and cutter trots down the street,

with jingle bells on neck and feet,

a soothing canter, gracious glide,

an awesome force in heartful pride.

Evening settles, our house aglow,

roof and ground all covered in snow,

all snug inside when sun goes down,

these precious mem‘ries from my town.

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A New Beginning

 

A New Beginning

The world I had lost since childhood,

reclaimed me in the woods,

took only a moment,

the machine was gone,

my breathing slowed,

the phoenix rose,

and took my burden with it.

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About this Brevity: Nature has a way to lift our spirits on the best and worst of days but when we lose the tugs of addiction and enter the forest with eyes and mind open, we can feel the presence and our belonging. There is a profound connection made that when absorbed, provides the answers you seek to shine the way forward.

Emerald Spring

 

Emerald Spring

Such welcomed sounds sing of spring,

returning geese in the air,

skies are lush with hurried sounds,

but on ground there’s despair.

Our forest Ash has succumbed,

to a foreign emerald bug,

trees culled by city workers,

with an un-concerning shrug.

The shock so devastating,

for our forest is now gone,

victim of container ships,

from China and Hong Kong.

I see the grieving creatures,

in the forest where I go,

the squirrels and birds and rabbits,

who grieve in melting snow.

When and where will it all end,

these uncaring kinds of things,

trade by uncaring business,

with destruction that they bring.

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The Activist Poet

About this Poem: I truly love nature but abhor what consumer growth economics has done to our environment. We need to do more to save our forests, trees and wildlife. We need to stop being consumers of trinkets while also ending our pre-occupation with disposable things.

In August 2020, I wrote about the trade with China and the devastation it has wrecked on the North American environment. The “Emerald Ash Borer” being one of those Asian infestations and forest destroyers.

In the spring of 2021, our city began cutting all the infected Ash Trees down and I have to say it was really devastating and depressing to see, especially the holes that they left in our community. I’m also concerned about the displaced animals and birds that made the trees their home. The destruction of our Ash trees and forests is a direct result of allowing trade with countries that have no concern for the environment like China. The huge amount of trade being conducted with China needs to end.

Twilights Dawn

 

Twilights Dawn

Spirits gather at twilight’s dawn,

to breathe in visions that are drawn,

on autumn shores where winter stays,

by foggy air that casts its haze.

Reflections mirror in the dew,

on frosty branches pale and blue,

as rolling waters faintly hum, 

with weeping elders that succumb. 

A soothing sigh shine’s from above,

enticing coo from morning dove,

that ripples gently on the pond,

embracing praises of its bond.

Ice winds coat the bramble weeds,

and all that hide among the reeds,

along the rivers painted streams, 

that tuck away into my dreams.

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Autumn Geese

Autumn Geese 

As autumn paints with color,
bright yellows, orange, and red,
cold temperatures freeze the ground,
the grass a frosty bed.

Morning composed the skyline,
in pastel tones with flair,
sunrise set the geese aglow,
like lanterns in the air.

Their song was like a calling,
that tugged my longing soul,
I watched them fly above me,
and felt the urge to go.

Their patterns vee’d in triumph,
above the harvest field,
setting sights then to the south,
migrating from the shield.

Their calling tugged emotions,
like loved ones they compel,
as parting sounds grew smaller,
I sent them my farewell.

Once they had gone, silence grew,
winter not far behind,
the wind then blew much colder,
with a longing I did find.
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2nd Edit June 12th, 2022

About this Poem: While on a morning walk in mid October 2020, I witnessed the sun paint the sky on early rise in orange yellow and red, while the foliage mirrored their colors. The grass was green with a frosty white and as the migrating geese flew above me, their bodies glowed like fire while their song captured my yearning to travel with them. A wonderful moment in the Canadian Autumn sunrise.

One Spring Morning

One Spring Morning

Morning breaks shadows night,

returns the color to our sight,

in crimson red, orange and white,

gale clouds pass into to light.

Orchid purples, pinkish skies,

as morning yawns an early rise,

old lilac blooms on robust breeze,

to mask the acrid air we breathe.

Clouds of grey in auras blue,

moving quickly, the sun shines through,

brilliant color in rainbow hue,

with solemn promise to renew.

Golden sunrays reveal dawn,

in forest greens on yellow lawns,

where lion weeds begin to spawn,

with flowers dead and florets gone.

Pods emerge in swollen display,

such perfect spheres in every way,

concedes the secret, suns array,

in calm before they’re washed away.

Operit winds wake apple trees,

with blight now present on their leaves,

their flowers waiting for the bees,

that shiver’s fever in the breeze.

Broken raptness robin’s thrill,

nourishment captured in her bill,

as thunder rocks the morning still,

and rainfall brings a misty chill.

Factory skies now cleansed by rain,

as earthen tears begin to wane,

a breath of air to ease the pain,

and flush the poisons down the drain.

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*Note: Lion weeds refer to “Dandelions”. The seed pod of the Dandelion has always fascinated me. When I look upon their fluffy white spheres, I see them revealing the hidden secret of a star’s energy. (Operit means Operatic ~ Opera)