Poem | |
What if Mother Nature
and I applied for her position?
How would I dare
her un-ending cycles;
her secret duties?
Could I invoke such power,
or must I simply become her?
into a cocoon of natural faith.
Let the atoms of the cosmos
transform my light into spirit.
Would I then emerge,
complete with every force of mystery?
Awaken each day with pink mist,
and burn each evening sky
Command each leaf, each breath
and every symphony
Would I wear her gowns
of argent, lavender and aqua;
step lightly on mossy stones,
and dance upon silver meadows?
Grace the heavens
in cloud-white glinting wings
the depths of darkest night
bear stars, filled
with the promise
of every beginning?
Poem | |
Oh white wave
Mistress of the sea,
And you, bright fame
Of the island;
Together you teach
The one who is like God;
A heavenly flower
That blooms with your touch.
Protected under the
Wings of constancy
Rejoice, for your
Grandmother is a Pearl;
Cloaked in iridescent white,
Layers upon layers,
She shines in her
Wealth of wisdom.
Connie Marcum Wong
Poem | |
I pause my schedule with a stroll along the Mill Race Park.
Unfortunately, my eyes, heart and soul are assaulted by waves of creeping garbage.
I collect some of the litter, only to dump it into a metal bin rusting out
at the bottom -- garbage goes in, garbage flows back out, strewn around
by spring gusts. Next time, garbage bags are in order.
I will fill them up and carry them home, only to possibly be mistaken for a
homeless man carrying all of his worldly possessions in black, plastic bags.
Oh well, people can laugh at me, then come down here
and spread some more rubbish along this watery, green belt.
A Blue Heron is tentatively fishing amongst the garbage and chemical slicks
shimmering on the water's surface. This bird is the official symbol
of our river-town. We should show some more respect to this regal,
yet ever-secretive member of royalty -- show some more respect to this symbol
of our town's heritage. I will not let this filth drag me down into an abyss
of apathy. To be mistaken for a hobo, is a small price to pay,
in giving back to this Heron, some of the dignity it so deserves.
the blue heron
fishes amongst litter --
a tarnished crown
Poem | |
Earth Day has come again this year, and gone
And hardly anyone has seemed to care.
Earth has provided well for us so long.
We do not realize our Earth is rare.
When Rachel Carson’s warnings were not heard
It was the scarce and wild that paid the price.
As one by one they vanished from the Earth,
We wished that we had heeded her advice.
But greedy man does not sorrow for long
For anything that does not bring him wealth.
Continues he to poison fertile ground
Until it takes a toll on his own health.
The cities’ air is hardly fit to breath
From all the smut we have sent into it.
Oil spills and wastes have our pure waters spoiled.
We know on some sad day we shall rue it.
The winds and rains have tried to cleanse the lands
By doubling and combining their vast powers.
When they have carried man’s sins all away.
They’ll calm to breezes and to gentle showers.
Written 5/2/13 Iambic penameter if in the last stanza showers and powers are each pronounced as one syllable.
Poem | |
Oh giver of life, you glorious Sun,
You instinctively know what must be done.
I bask in your warmth to gain energy;
Marvel how you raise up each plant and tree.
You, gracious Moon ever watchful at night
Even aware when your eye is closed tight.
You sway our emotions, also the sea;
Cause turmoil at times or tranquility.
I love you Earth and all of your creatures.
There's joy in knowing you are our teachers.
I will, to treat you with respect and care
And pray that the world will become aware
When we poison you, we poison us too.
Keeping you balanced will grow life anew.
We are blessed with Earth, sea, wind and fire;
Ether, divine, our longing desire
Helps us to treasure our blessings on Earth
And love that's bestowed when given our birth.
So embrace loyal Sun and moody Moon
As sweet Nature sings her loveliest tune.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Poem | |
feel the earth run through your fingers
smell the freshness of a rainy morning
smell the tantalizing flowers
see the beauty that surrounds you.
feel the coldness of water upon your skin
earth drinks in the freshness
water cleanses herself
sustains all of life
feel the north wind blow upon your face
see it whip the snow or ocean's waves
see birds flying in the currents
Or feel it blow through your hair
feel the fire in your veins as you look at beauty
see the ring of fire that surrounds the planet
feel her heat beneath your feet
she is the fire that burns inside
Poem | |
April 2, 2013, 5:04 PM
Fairy of the Forest
Fairy of the Forest on a mossy stone
Casts her magical spells
From atop her wondrous throne
Daily she sends helpers winging through the dells
From evening tide until the morning’s bells
In the spirit of beauty and truth she rules
surrounded by secrets she rarely reveals
She orchestrates leaf and flower renewals
From the highest of treetops, to ferns she heals,
while creatures from prying eyes she conceals
Her dress is fashioned from bluebell petals
Her wings from gossamer tightly woven
Her chants from deepest earth’s espousals
Decrees and rules from a rainbow’s haven
We revere this leaf- green forest maven
Poem | |
A mighty soul squeezes into a body.
For the first time or the 10,000st – no matter –
It’s humbling, so h u m a n.
Learning to use this magnificent vessel, we know nothing.
What is this thing: “Language”?
We crap our pants.
We forgot almost everything and keep forgetting the rest.
Everything NEW seems REAL.
It will take much work or the Grace of God to perceive the truth again,
Amidst all this fascinating stuff.
Feelings – a packaged deal with the body.
(Much like the Monsanto protection clause in the bill to save the country from bankruptcy)
We are addicted to them (the feelings and Monsanto)
Yet too scared to allow the full range of what is labeled “good” to “bad”.
We spend most of our lives frantically avoiding anything that feels uncomfortable.
Don’t you see: it gives that particular feeling more reality than it deserves!
On the way home listening to the drum and a deeply melodic, sensuous voice,
The old woman in a willowy, wrinkly, white body (www.com) rocks out.
The music is intoxicating.
The older she gets, the more human she becomes.
Youth’s nature is to be perfect.
But after almost 60 years of living, she begins to own and honor the imperfection.
Everything is there. Love, compassion and kindness,
As well as judgment, self-centeredness and even cruelty.
The Earth is completing another turn around itself,
Whirling around a star as they are being hurled farther “into” or “out of” the Universe?
The color is fading out of the landscape.
Sucked into the sky as blues, purples, reds and gold.
Only to be reborn tomorrow in the luminescent light of the dawn.
Poem | |
Have you seen a bamboo?
the tallest grass ever exist,
dancing and bending and swaying...
whistling upon nature's grace?
Have you seen a woman,
standing beneath heavy rains and winds;
and thunders and lightnings that flashes,
enduring and firmly believing,
that she can surpass everything?
Have you seen a canvas,
with nature's subject on it;
i can paint it very well;
a withering bamboo and crying woman on it?
Nature... nature... listen to inner whispers' cry...
may you strongly fight as I fight;
may you survive long from harmful hands;
that never cease to harm your sight!
Poem | |
Pioneers had to cut down thousands of trees
to build their shacks and to stay warm
in harsh winters; we cut them down
for huge profits...not caring about
the devastation of deforestation
that soon will cause floods and landslides.
When Nature dies, everything that embellishes
the lovely and green landscapes dies with it;
a land without shrubs and trees is a desert
with miles of cracked soil that rain won't saturate
and make vegetation grow to attract humans,
fauna and flora to make everything lively.
I have used my keen sight to describe it,
and instinct to anticipate the dreariness to come;
doesn't joy derive from something grown,
and beauty from something seen and admired?
But where's the commitment that all should make
to keep our land a Paradise for everyone to enjoy?
We should profoundly lament when Nature dies from neglect
and abuse...hear the sorrowful cries of fowls and wolves,
of other animals that used to roam and graze
on prairies and wild meadows on breezy days;
and how can we survive without the crops
in due season? Won't we perish and disappear like Nature?