Long Plant life Poems
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Upon the lakes they do swim gliding so effortlessly
These species of graceful waterfowl the largest of anatidae family
In their beautiful pure white plumage with elegant long curved necks
Blunted beaks and big webbed feet living together by water's edge
These magnificent creatures of the waters are a sign of purity and love
Remind us of the blessings in our relationships a gift from heaven above
If all goes well in there pairing they will stay together for rest of their life’s
When they glide upon the waters of our awareness they bring us deep insight
These birds of Mother Nature they’re exquisite and unique
Bearing exotic waves of beauty to our dreams as we do sleep
They swim around in our divine mind adding colours of delight
Encouraging us to spread our wings and take our glorious flight
Courting occurs on rivers and lakes throughout the known world
Whilst they live on plant life tiny fish and scattered bread as well
You might see them duck their heads as they feed upon their foods
But you better beware of their aggression whilst they protect their broods
The elegance of these myterious birds are displayed in a ballet dancer
Dancing into our emotions with their romantic artisticpower
Transforming our souls with delightful moves bringing us into harmony
With a brilliant performance of balance, control and technical flexibility
The beautiful dying swan pours its heart out as death draws near
Greeting this with an exceptional beautiful ending balladeer
Its modulated voice singing the swan-song of death so sweet
This harmonious sound can be heard as its last creative piece
The crown retain the ownership to all unmarked mute swans
A ceremony takes place once a year and lasts for five days long
Swan upping is a tradition dated back to the twelfth century
Markers row up and down the rivers paying tribute to the Queen
In England they’re a protected species and owned by Her Majesty
The wing spans on these wonderful birds can extent to several feet
These sacred aquatic birds male and female cobs and pens
Those little cygnets and swanlings on a swan lake that never ends
© Copyright KC.Leake
8th December 2014
All Rights Reserved
I sit and pause, looking at the sky blue ceiling above me. White vapour cotton wool clouds
gently float like water lilies on an upside down pond. My humble seat, an igneous rock
from the Devonian period. A glaciation past has moulded this comfort to rest this weary
climber. I am in fortunate delight as this skyscraper of old can turn nasty with nature.
These marvels can unite and lure unsuspected hikers, and draw them into a weather world
they have never known. The gulley's and faces of this quite wonderful Munro hide
challenges and dangers for all who dare climb. Many have been lost as they become
disorientated, as natures weather closes in.
The ascent route to the summit on a day like today is quite wonderful. The beauty of the
glens, with their sporadic mix of andesite and basaltic lava mountains, rival many a range
on our fine planet. Many colours explode on the surrounding canvas. Greens and beige's,
greys mingling with red granite masses. Screes are in evidence, a sign of the range ageing
as natures seasons take their toll. Plant life carpets the slopes, where grasses of sorts
mingle with the purple and white heather. Ferns from a prehistoric age fan out catching
the breeze, like Sea´ ferns´ in the ocean.
As i climbed, at various intervals i would close my eyes and listen to the calls of the
wild. The sporadic bleating of sheep, as if echoing through the glens. Crows and their
hooded cousins fly sorties looking for carrion of such. Suddenly they scatter, as royalty
makes a welcomed appearance. As majestic as the King of the mountains can be, a Golden
Eagle glides on the thermals. His subjects looking on from a distance, for fear of
angering him. Rabbits, lizards and even sheep and lambs, bow down in whatever chambers of
safety allows them. As graceful as he arrived, he leaves. Slowly but slowly, the lookouts
of the species declare their haven a safe zone.
This climb has certainly given me a thirst, as the thinned mountain air leaves me tired.
Nearby a small stream offers a weary climber a much needed tonic. This pure fresh
translucent chemical substance quenches my crave, with a gentle splash over my sun beaten
face, i feel refreshed to a point.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-3.php
From the ashes of winter
Comes the beauty of spring
After the cold
Warmth, sunshine does bring
Winters crumpled leaves are like ashes
Lying on the ground
Eventually new plant life appears
And springs greenery abounds
Life also changes
Just as the seasons do
Cycles of life
Mama and Daddy went through
They each had a long life
Full of moments good and bad
Sometimes they were happy
Sometimes they were sad
At different times in their life
They each accepted Christ's loving call
At death they would see Heaven
Because Jesus gave His all
As they accepted the gift of salvation
Their hearts joyfully soared
Knowing an eternity in Heaven
Would one day, be their reward
For Mama sickness was like winter
Cold and dark
But she knew on a joyful journey
She soon would embark
For Daddy sickness was like winter
Dark and cold
But he knew Heavenly wonders
He soon would behold
Much pain and suffering
They each endured
But by the blood of Jesus
Their souls were insured
As their lives each drew closer
And closer to an end
We all knew soon, life's last breath
They would expend
When to a life of sickness
They could no longer cling
I imagine they heard the flutter
Of sweet angel wings
They each knew death to them
Sickness would bring
But they did not fear the pain
Of death's lonely cold sting
For they each were saved
By God's wonderful grace
They would meet death
Wrapped in God's loving embrace
As the death angel
Took them, each gently away
They entered the land
Of bright eternal day
As they entered eternal happiness
Their souls began to sing
They were now in the presence
Of Jesus the Heavenly King
Their cycle of life
Was now complete
They were now a part
Of Heaven's elite
Death had taken them
To beautiful Heaven above
They would be forever ensconced
In God's pure love
Meeting Jesus in Heaven
Their hearts leapt
Angels led the way
As they each stepped
Through the scattered ashes of winter
That sickness did bring
Into the majestic beauty
Of Heaven's glorious eternal spring
This poem was included in Echoes of the Soul Christian Poetry book one of the Heart and Soul Christian Poetry Collection by Esselle Davis (pen name I use)
In one big ocean were many schools of fish. Most of them were nice in their own ways, but this is the story of two types of schools of fish very different in their ways of thinking. One school of fish was fond of mesmerizing things such as the colorful lures the fishermen sometimes used as bait. Although they often got caught by fishermen, they still preferred swimming in the shallow waters. It was as if they did it by instinct and could see no other way to be. They also loved being part of the larger crowd of fishes in the ocean. They even followed the more popular schools of fish around because they wanted nothing more than to be popular as well. The popular schools of fish were sometimes quite flashy and beautiful, but so easy to be seen by the sharks that lurked close by.
Swimming in much deeper waters were schools of fish with different behaviors from the more popular schools. The deep-swimming fish seemed by instinct to know that they should hide behind rocks and plant life when danger was lurking, and they stayed clear of the shallow waters. They understood somehow that sharks more often attack above thirty feet rather than in the great depths of the ocean. These schools of peculiar fish were not flashy. Neither were they popular. However, they did not get caught as often by the fishermen who came from land in search of fish.
One day the hateful sharks, rulers of the mighty ocean, got together and went on a huge expedition to capture and eat as many fish as they could find. They would circle unsuspecting fish, capture them and then devour them mercilessly. The schools of fish in the ocean’s depths mostly escaped this day of entrapment. The sharks continued their attacks, growing more and more aggressive day by day as time went on. It was not long before many of the popular schools of fish were dwindling in the ocean. More and more, all fish seemed to be learning it was wiser to swim deeper.
Moral: Unwisely schooled, more easily fooled.
Primitive stirrings tinge my sleep.
Dawn’s grey mist welcomes my awakening coherence.
I traverse ice bound fields of summer’s past glory,
in search of winged game from the north.
I search for tundra dwellers that flee winter’s bleak death.
I seek the airborne migrants,
who call upon the brisk sting of morning chill.
Decoys are arranged on the shore of a vast waterway.
A believable trap is set.
I camouflage under the protection of a dormant tree.
Yellow grass, evidence of the forgotten warmth of longer days,
shields me from sharp eyes.
Peering out from the spent vegetation, I wait.
Scanning horizons with eyes and ears for the anticipated geese.
A soul chilling cold seeps beneath my layers.
My fingertips numb beneath stilled gloves.
They clutch the metallic instrument of death in my lap.
I fight urges to flee this hostile and frozen landscape.
Ice islands float about the closing waters of the reservoir,
pushed by stinging winds.
The breeze rustles the decayed plant life of the bottoms.
Finally I hear the call,
a shrill squawk of defiant life.
The gaggle approaches my deliberate display.
I bring the gun to braced shoulder.
The safety comes off.
A gliding bird is singled out as prey.
A fevered rush of frantic energy swelled through my rigid body.
Time condensed before untaken breath.
The metal trigger wrote smoke and flash to the once silent scene.
The acrid smell of gunpowder over fresh snow brought delight.
The bird’s flight was shattered.
End over end and downward the feathered being fell.
Bolting to it’s place of final rest,
I did not hesitate.
The last remnants of life I took with unashamed hands,
Ending the suffering of the magnificent creature.
Blood stained the pure backdrop of crystal waters and fine snow.
We were alone on the frozen shore.
In tribute to the fragile life I had ended,
I would with gratitude and awe,
make feast of the succulent flesh of my kill.
Ice is the strangest substance
upon this earth then yet it
is seen as insignificant by
many.
It forms from water-droplets
within clouds, flowing rivers
and even in oceans where energy
is forever in motion.
It floats when it should sink;
density is transformed from heavy
to light even though the chemistry
remains unchanged.
It falls ever so gracefully in the
form of snow then yet wind transforms
it into a violent blizzard.
Every snowflake differs but its
crystallization is aided by
particles in the air, either natural
or man-made; it is said thunder
is created whenever they bombard
one another creating bursts of energy
transforming a cloud into a bubble of light.
Mountains become its home where it
fills crevices that adorn jagged peaks.
It twists and turns creating a deep
bowl-like hollow; a cirque is thus
created.
Seasons go by and snow continues to
fall surviving the short summer
thus the snow transforms to firn and
néve as pressure increases compacting
past layers of fallen snow.
Time passes slowly; the snow has now
become ice.
The mountain is no longer its home
for the cirque has been breached –
a glacier has formed.
The power of gravity exerts itself
onto the river of ice making it flow
downstream.
The steep mountain-sides and once
v-shaped valleys become victims of
the erosive power of the glacier bed;
picking up rocks and boulders of
unimaginable size transforming it
into sandpaper.
As time goes on the mountain scenery
changes ever so slowly as the glacier
retreats back into the womb of its
creation.
The valleys become u-shaped, rivers
and lakes dominate the scree covered
land where plant-life invades the
now bare soil; and layers of rock
exposed displaying the elements
of time.
The power of ice may be hidden but
its creations are all round us,
beautiful and enchanting.
Seed - scattered strewn or downtrodden.
Grain stuck on passive flytrap mucus.
Wild life biomes ripe with open sesame.
Frantic birth pangs stiffen their gestations as green leaf ferments bubble underneath.
Mother of all wombs, diva pulse or fertile runner bean.
Maternal youth.
Eternal youth.
Bamboo shoots that wave their infant tassels
in a windmill vane.
Future plant life leveler a wobbly wellie earth crunch.
Squelching noises tower over brown air pigment mulch.
Sweet pea treasure’s
plot or topsoil script, ploughman’s pen an agri-birthmark issue.
Acorns cling to feather beak and claw with migrant species casually dispersing airborne clan.
Pity the poor bacteria as they bear their own strain.
Mediators in regrowth,
life cycle go betweens who skirt around infinity.
Pregnant life force signage points at blossom, branch and blade.
Father sky, whose azure blue tarpaulin watches blithely as we earthlings bloom like algae.
Captain chlorophyll, the sunshine nabbing pirate rules the waves.
Sugar dazzle booty on display for fortune hunters everywhere.
Placenta of the rural outcrop overstretched.
Nourishing, replenishing yet prematurely procreates its progeny.
Compost layer genus code emulsions where thorny splatters worm themselves inside.
Gene pool mirror drapes its vibrant colour wash on foetal lime bow and arrow twigs.
A prism to some rainbow tint or shaft.
Muddy waters percolating sluggishly through all those clay born matrices below.
Our natural breeds now wet nurse turf ground offspring.
Nutrients absorbed by network carriers- sprout and stem WIFI eco-mates.
Elevator of the undergrowth in embryo.
Going up going down.
Timeless womb your time will always come.
Posted 13 th August 2021
I didn’t even know what type of bird it was - when I had to shoot to kill.
I left the comfort of my bed
on an early Saturday Fall morning
to enter the unknown - a nearby forest
so that I could hunt with my father.
The canopy of trees further reduced the light from the overcast sky.
It was chilly, with a scent of damp moss present in the air
the ground wet from the morning mist.
I remember mostly silence
except for my breathing
and the sounds of my footsteps
and those of my father - crushing twigs, branches, dead leaves, plant life, and living insects
clearing the road
for my rite of passage
my childhood disappearing
with every footstep.
The bird
spotted by my father
a distance away
on a branch
of a colorful, majestic tree.
He handed me his gun
and gave me a quick refresher on how to hold, how to shoot, and what to expect.
The gun heavy
my arms starting to ache
my hands cold
and trembling.
And then I was told that I was ready
And so I aimed
pulled the trigger
and fired.
The bird remained motionless
and very much alive.
I fired once more.
Again
the bird, still there
unaffected
and at that moment I asked myself, if I would have to shoot again.
My father reloaded the rifle
and as I reluctantly took it from his hands, he looked into my eyes
and I wondered if he knew.
I fired again.
Again - I missed.
Then a fourth, and final time.
I returned the riffle to my father.
Nothing was said.
Nothing else was done.
I asked myself if one day I would be a hunter.
Before leaving the area
so that my father’s hunt could once again continue
I looked - for the last time - at the branch of the tree that once supported the bird.
It was gone - and I smiled.
Good morning sun, as we enter into a new year, I thank God for you,
I thank you for blessing me with your rays of love light and energy, shining ever so brightly each day.
no matter what austerities, adversities or circumstances that may come your way you are forever constant.
I want to be just like you, to shine ever so brightly each day, no matter austerities, adversities or circumstances that may come my way.
I thank you every morning, for all that you do, if you did not do the things that you do, life on this planet earth would cease to exist.
My father created the sun, the moon, the stars, and all the planets in the galaxies and the universities, he created them all.
then he created this planet earth and all things on it, the oceans, the rivers, the mountains, the trees all plant life on land and in the sea, all animal life on land and in the sea, all precious metals, gemstones, oils and gases.
My father created them all, then he created men and women and gave us this planet for our home, he made us the custodians of this planet earth and all things on it.
And even though at times we are so undeserving of this great honor, but God is a loving and forgiven father and I am so grateful for his love and grace.
I am a child of God and of the light, my father and I am one, I am that I am, in the name of the father the son and the holy spirit my lord and savior Jesus Christ, may you wash me with your blood make me anew cleanse me of all my sins and transgressions.
To you my father I give all things, you know my heart, my desires, my wants and my needs.
forever grateful for the gift of life, to earths custodians please take care of mother earth for there is no other!
Is my notepad a blank space,
canvass or image-ridden spot,
thoughts of aqua bead elation,
mesmerise beyond the fence,
they jump gaudy traffic lights,
but runaway relish cuts wild shape,
when fantasy and environment,
a seamless transit might appear,
notions spiral in frothy oceans,
as time a spring time winger,
unfolds, unveils, unfurls,
its unique ruby nugget chain,
a doorway widens wondrous wares,
I am wide awake to treasures,
set on blaze by rapid prompt,
pencils, crayons, brushes lie down,
to attention writer’s tools,
and a dab of paint on rim,
I’m this usher pulsing conduit,
verily at the cusp of opus,
that has a charging current,
to be found heartily exuded,
must this inbred dalliance,
count for that mint broadside,
as I dwell behind an urban hedge,
the water of wafer thin wetness,
I peer at whilst straying lazily,
to pick up the city rumble,
to avoid that red blush tumble,
into pop up pool endowed,
with variegated plant life enshroud,
frangipani, star jasmine, golden cane palm,
exotic edge encircled feast,
schools of fish in wagtail swarm,
aquarium exhibit for marine throng,
fascinated by the plethora of genus,
and mindful of early dawn tread,,
figment is that candle to nourish,
in saliva swirl anticipation ahead,
that bright mark one might conjure,
as the verse weaver weighing contour,
synonym, wordplay, idiom equivalent,
sudden splash of ink,
indignant worst hand scribble,
gathering, assembling, unifying,
morning hours a speedy sequence,
noonday intermission, afternoon stretch,
evening getting close,
one on a journey might amass,
inspired phrases for posterity,
I wonder has my time come or gone