SPRING
As a gentle rain teases the shivering grass spring whispers its invitation. They will come. The house hunting feathered flyers, the burrowers and builders. Colorful dances and warbling invites will ensue – as the mating game commences. The trees will dress for the ceremony, dew soaked flowers will bow as the procession passes. The chatter, chirp, yip, bark, and squawk of life will echo a cacophony of rebirth as the deep rooted dandelions taunt both sun and honeybee.
Spring tiptoes slowly
awakens the continuum
of life’s longing
3/7/2021
Springtime Haibun Poetry Contest
ML Kiser sponsor
I have a problem;
these animals keep digging
mammals moles, gophers
~
hole digging tunnels
Oh! Burrowers where’s your den
you’re not our friend
~
small animals holes
moles, voles, rats, chipmunks burrows
Complex tunnels scapes
~
vermits such a pest
there’s gonna be a murder
Murder in tunnel
1/31/21
For Murder in the Tunnel Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Kai Michael Neuman . 2021©
as wind slowly, silently, stirs dry grass
forest ruminants eye darkening skies
sniffing for the scents of Winter’s warning
watch the fading “V’s” - distant disguise.
once dappled fawns stand tall now tawny
alert to changes in the forest’s tone
urgency replaces Summer’s idyll
leafs red alert of warning wildly blown.
cricket violins fall coldly silent
the dragon and the butterflies called home
turtles abandon logs for mud bank nest
gnarled trees embrace the fate of stoic gnome.
burrowers and builders peer from retreats
as thinly spreads this crust of Winter’s bite
chasing the sap of life within its core
hoarfrost to tinge the soul in black and white.
chilled stealth of ice reclaims the rippled pond
swans beauty - fades to black - dots in the sky
hawks ride the frigid winds of Winter’s rise
I store my kayak paddle with a sigh.
John G. Lawless
©10/8/2018
the cinnabar moth
a summer diurnal one
check out the ragwort
peppermint stands
mint moths' abundant tiny
summer potatoes
a rambling rose
buds showing waiting to burst
a flowerfly drones
bees not many
some burrowers one or two
campion self-seeds
tis the morrow morn
west is the forecasted wind
southwest for the swifts
OLD TREE
Tell of this marvelous acre
The which surrounded by neighborhood
Where stands the giant old tree
No living soul can remember a time of sprouting
The time long before neighborhood
For all anyone knows the old tree has always
been there
Center of the mystic plot
And the ground cover renews year by year
In a green emerald density
Here reside the burrowers, climbers, flyers, Chance residents of nature’s renewal
Year after year those hungry come and go
Come and go
Now witness this confrontation –
One fine black cat
Eyes ablaze, quietly watching
And a ground squirrel
Peering down from half way up the old tree
Trunk
Chattering about who knows what,
But cock sure the old tree is quite eternal,
will always aid escape
Three black crows at tree top taunt, screech
down
The drama plays out daily,
Has done so for countless ages
Then, in some celestial silence
Should old sky reaching giant speak
It would say,
“I am here”
Dave Austin
Natures's Shift
The birds now sit with feathers plumped
on branches with their flowers slumped
as trees sway idly with winds chill
and cling to leaves with sap thinned will.
Lone hawk rides current, heat vs cold
painted in cool sunset gold
shadow riding field and brush
silenced prey in shivering hush.
Cacophony of goose parade
long circling in twilight shade
seeking lodging for the night
rest for weary instinct's flight.
Burrowers in frenzy clean
owl and falcon double preen
all in tune with nature's shift
knowing soon the snow will drift.
John G. Lawless
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
Green and warm, full of life, the forest's skirt, the Maid's delight,
where rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells, a dream in morning light.
Gold and bright, full of life, the forest's skirt and Knight's delight;
life lies in grasses high, where lovers sleep and passion cries.
White and fair, full of life, the forest's skirt of pearly white;
burrowers sleep in bowers deep, hearths alight on chill nights.
The meadow's breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew;
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
The men have made the meadow home, no rabbits now play there,
no deer appear so near the roads for cars bring them dispare.
The meadow was home to many things, butterflies, birds on wing,
yet, few can dwell where men reside, the forest's skirt swept aside.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the misty mornings’ dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
So green and warm, and full of life, the forest skirt and the maids’ delight.
There rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells;A gauze filled dream in morning light.
So gold and bright, and full of life, the forests skirt and Knights delight;
The Dame and doe do lie, ‘pon hillocks high, where lovers sleep with passion's cry.
So white and fair, yet full of life, the forests’ skirt of pearly white;
Where burrowers sleep in bowers deep, and hearths light on winter nights.
The meadow's breath a gift to all, the misty morning’s dew;
A silent sigh, a heartfelt call, aA prayer to me and you.
Now, no green bloom, no home for them, the builders-men once more;
to take the glen and make man's homes, no deer will roam fourscore.
A meadow’s a home to many things, to bold butterflies and birds on wing,
Yet, few can dwell where men reside if forest's skirt, gives way to tide.
The meadow's breadth a gift to all, from sea to shining sea
America, a heartfelt call, a prayer to you and me.
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