I love to hike nature in the Spring time
and one of my favorite things is to gather wildflowers
such wonderous gems - wild and elegant
they grow in forests, meadows, and along roadsides
often I find them along quiet streams
I admire the tall purple coneflower
from the daisy family- so lovely swaying under the sun
and oh those divine eye-popping colors
their seeds spread and often they end up in gardens
blooming early summer to fall
and the bees, butterflies and hummingbirds
adore them, and I do too- so drawing them is sublime
summer's curtain call...
fall peeks in ... hesitates ... 'til
... leaves flaming roadsides
Bright orange daylilies reach for the sky
Standing at least six or seven feet tall,
Brightening the corner next to the wall
With commanding presence, not at all shy.
After the blooms fall, we cut them back
Knowing they’ll return by the next summer
Profusely invading but never a bummer,
They bring vibrant color taking us aback.
From mid-July through the long dog-days,
The daylilies waft with the gentle breezes
Some are blooming until the first freezes
Along the roadsides, too, the color sways.
Rich in sweet nectar inviting the butterflies
Daylilies are a staple for the monarchs, too,
In reds and yellows, and a red-orange hue,
Raising their glorious trumpets to the skies.
Written July 19, 2022
Lovely are the flowers that winter over
Standing tall and stately in winter’s snow,
Along the roadsides this sturdy white clover
Lovely are the flowers that winter over,
Sometimes it is called Dutch white clover
In pastures hearty where others won’t grow.
Lovely are the flowers that winter over,
Standing tall and stately in winter’s snow.
written January 16, 2022
Joyful are the bunches of bananas,
exposed that are on shelves
of modern markets,
or street stalls,
waiting for the greedy mouths
of the beauties, or of the
famous tennis player...
Happier than those
yellowish bananas
that rot in the
roadsides,
with no one to support them
the due value...
Road stop
By cop
Perceived
Car weaved
Two Beers
Cop jeers
Slurs talk
Can't walk
Clyde weaved
And heaved
Ker splat
Fell flat
Clyde drunk
As skunk
Tests muffed
Handcuffed
To jail
No bail
Transport
To court
Demand
Remand
Severe
One year
Oh dear
No beer
The ricefields at the
roadsides were gone.
I didn’t notice when
they started to fade.
I felt empty and sick,
as sad as dark dawn,
when I saw the flock
of teeny weeny birds,
chasing each other
going to the direction
where four squares
rice paddies located.
If green grains evanesced,
where should they go
to find food when even gardens
turned into buildings too?
Blue skies reign o'er freshly manicured lawns
Birds chirping merrily hours before dawn
Gentle breezes lifting skirts and tousling hair
Sprinklers sending water's rainbow-jets here and there
Peonies' lush pink blossoms open wide
Bluebells and sunflowers line sleepy roadsides
Down by the lake, the water's crystal-clear
Beams back smiles of those who draw near
Some folks say that cruelty's Mother Nature's way
I say -- Show them this picture-perfect day in May
I cannot drive from my home to a grocery store
without choking back tears that threaten to spill as
sourced from my bruised heart. The gifts of earth as
lovingly bestowed from our Father to us are trashed in
sad quantities upon the roadsides in ignorant, careless
tosses that I cannot understand and refuse to accept.
If man cannot comprehend all that earth’s wonders offer
us on even a basic, selfish level then what hope is there
for man to understand anything at all that would lead us
back to Eden? How are we to globally comprehend the
benefits of goodwill when we fail to understand the good
concept of trash cans?
trash throws vast blessings
back at our generous source ~
my mascara runs
Inukshuks abound the roadsides
Carefully orchestrated not to collapse
Offering meaningful direction
Throughout Muskoka's north country
Mindful of legends and lore
Indigenous in the spirit
Lonely trees on lonely roadsides
In dusty paddocks scarce water to abide
A hot dry northerly blows from the red centre
Gives no relief from the summer’s measure
Kangaroos lie in the gum tree’s shade
Idling the long hours in a lazy escapade
An emu flock gathers slowly walking across the road
An ancient land in a tough abode.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Environmentally Yours
GLOBAL WARMING, CLIMATE CHANGE, NUCLEAR HOLOCAUSTE-
very big words; beyond us.
ILLEGAL MINING, RIVER POLLUTION, FOREST DEVASTATION-
not our concern; ordinary mortals.
As decent individuals we barely use one car,
one fridge, one air-conditioner or even none.
Leading a carefree life we Indians throw
empty water bottles anywhere, choke waterways
by throwing all waste materials,
even electronic, sanitary waste trail here and there;
spitting anywhere, urinating on roadsides
we find pleasure in heaping more over heaped garbage
remaining alert that no such nuisance is done before our doors
while throwing petty things through our windows.
But all our petty actions, as unified team,
boomerang on us as the ultimate victim.
Environment is what surrounds us
but are we not surrounding our environment?
On the cusp of favor brimming in the flavor of missing minutes, laid about the streets curved around sockets of setting suns. Along roadsides and dug deep under sand dunes, I collect forgotten pearls planted in the dismantled timepiece of my chest. I close my eyes letting the hours, months, and years sink in. However broken these wheels and springs, for you, this pendulum forever swings.
Life is a journey on a high way
hills and valleys are many
rough winds and rains interfere
there are many traffic jams
highway codes on roadsides
uphill, you push on- no giving up
on flat surface celebrate
downhill fly as a sparrow
Humankind's quest for be bereavement memorials has no bounds.
Headstone or brass plaques used to suffice,
Hidden away in grave yards and draws of ashes on walls.
But now crosses and plaques litter the roadsides,
Like a strange form of offensive graffiti to mark
Where drivers have fallen and been slain in the driving campaign.
Upfront and in your face these unauthorized crude memorials
Add unwanted crosses and bunches of fake flowers, to the weeds and litter on roadsides.
Now the pristine face of man in the moon,
Admired and loved by countless generations of folk,
Is to be littered and trashed by human cremated remains.
Send by 'Moon Express' rocket from Cape Canaveral, no less.
To be left as permanent firmament memorials to humans who want their remains
left in space, in the heavens above, in the eye of man in the moon.
For everyone on earth to be forced to see, like drivers forced to see crosses on highways.
Such pollution, graffiti and litter add to the footprints and spacecraft junk
Left to deface the pristine, much loved and cherished face of man in the moon.
For heavens sake, is there no bounds to human depravity!
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