Category Archives: Nature

Harbinger

Harbinger

If you value winter and if you value spring,
dedicate your efforts to one important thing.
Take it as a harbinger that nearly everything
weather has been telling us seems to have a sting.

Forest fires in summer, winter with more snow.
Spring rains bringing flooding everywhere we go.
Hurricanes with violence beyond the status quo,
It seems that Mother Nature delivers what we sow.

 

Word prompts today are spring, value, harbinger and dedicate. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/03/29/rdp-friday-spring/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/29/fowc-with-fandango-value/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/03/29/your-daily-word-prompt-harbinger-march-29-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/03/29/dedicate/

Our Better, Nature

 

Our Better, Nature

We hoard her in our gardens where we force her into plots,
confine her in our vases, crowd her into pots.
Ambitious men plan towers—trade grass and trees for gold.
They overlook one simple fact. We’re all in nature’s hold.
Man’s illustrious plots and schemes always come to naught,
for the power of nature can’t be sold or bought.

I found it in the city, extending from the curb—
a simple little chain of green, a subtle rus-in-urbe.
Where men would install order, nature overrules.
Those trying to best nature are always proven fools.
For eons, we have buried her, time and time again.
Yet still she prods up from her grave. Nature will always win.

 

The prompt words today are order, hoard, illustrious and rus-in-urbe.
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/03/16/rdp-saturday-rus-in-urbe/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/16/fowc-with-fandango-order/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/03/16/your-daily-word-prompt-hoard-march-16-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/03/16/illustrious/

Nature’s Stagings: FOTD Oct 27, 2018

Click on any photo to enlarge and view all. These beauties were all found within 20 feet of Forgottenman’s front door in Missouri. Found Art..

For Cee’s FOTD.

A New World’s Morning

Click on any photo to enlarge all and view as slide series.

 

Ubiquitous networks of  highways crisscross the face of Mother Earth–lines that age her fresh face. Pockmarks of potholes question their durability, whereas Earth lives on, in one form or another.

Dams crack and spill their water freshly across lake beds parched for centuries.
Bones of dinosaurs peek out from eroded banks of clay. Plants spread from potholes in gouged pavement. Somewhere in the arctic ice, the past lies thawing, ready to be reborn.

Who knows but that the
nightfall of mankind may be
a new world’s morning?

 

I don’t know what I did this week.  I seem to have collected prompts from a different week for each prompt site.  Perhaps I’ve been at it too long and should retire. The prompt words  I somehow collected were highway, durable, ubiquitous and morning. The form is for dVerse Poets haibun challenge.

Darn! I now find even the comments and Mr. Linky for dVerse are closed, even though they say they are open all week.  I guess this just isn’t my day, or I am as cracked as the pavement above…..Here are the “wrong” links I used:

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/01/fowc-with-fandango-highway/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/08/26/daily-addictions-2018-week-34/durable
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/01/ubiquitous/
https://dversepoets.com/2018/09/03/haibun-monday-good-morning/

 

Forest Rounds

Round upon Round

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The nourishing environments of still water and the forest floor both bloom in circular beauty.  Whether the tiny orange “flowers” were flowers, mushrooms or another type of fungus, I couldn’t determine and I was too far behind our guide to ask.  The forest floor is in a Lacandon Reserve in Chiapas, where one of the few remaining members of this purely Mayan village led us though the forest. The cycle of nature is clearly portrayed as life springs forth from decay.  The still pond is actually a still inlet of an Amazon River tributary in Peru.

 From a 2014 post. The prompt today was forest.

 

Cruel Harvest

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Cruel Harvest

In this middle morning,
pelicans drop like hail on the surface of the water.
This is not their usual style,
for they do not dive headfirst
and squeeze bills to necks
and swallow as before,
but merely float and dip their beaks
and raise their heads and dip again.

I hope it is not the tiny sea turtles
that we put in the water last night
that they are feeding on like hors d’oeuvres,
greedily.
But surely those turtles,
placed in to swim away 15 hours ago
are elsewhere than this,
facing other dangers, no doubt,
but at least, sad endings  I don’t bear witness to.

 We had waited until sunset
when the birds had gone
to lift the tiny creatures
from their plastic world
and set them,
confused and stunned,
upon the sand
to turn in circles
until we placed them right again
and again,
sometimes patting their tails
to encourage their voyage
to a new life shocking in its largeness.

 “What is this
lifting up and putting down?”
they must have thought,
“and then this broad expanse
that lifts us, spins us,
submerges us?”
Courageously, they lifted their  heads to swim,
only to be tumbled by waves—another  shock.
What more had life to surprise them with?
First, that bursting from the shell that had protected them,
then that thrusting into a colder world.

Children squealed with glee and were warned by elders
not to step back lest they step on the turtles that surrounded us—
all of us looking backwards as we stepped,
cameras clicking,
voices in English, Spanish, French—
all enchanted with these creatures perfectly formed
with black flippers and beautiful shells.
We saw their tiny heads like periscopes above the waves—
swarms of them at first and then separate,
swimming off to their individual fates.
Fifteen minutes later, the rising action
featured a solitary pelican that swooped for one
and then another and another
bedtime snack.
“No,” we screamed.
One woman threw a rock.
These pelicans that had enchanted me for weeks
as I watched their graceful flight and sure plummetings,
now prompted a new story
where they were villains, stopping new life,
bringing back the theme I have been so aware of here
for these weeks of my daily floatings in the sea.

Every organism, every animal, every person on this earth
lives only by merit of the death of others.
When life ends in infancy, how sad, how sad, we say;
but also say seeing the full grown pelican on the beach,
bleached to bones,
its beak sealed shut with a plastic circle from a six pack
or the needlefish, stretched on the sand and picked by carrion.
Never so obvious as here, this feeding of life on life,
and never so startling as when we placed the baby turtles
on the sand, wanting to save one for ourselves,
but knowing this action had a larger purpose than that.

We surrendered them to their life apart from us,
then moments later,
saw the pelican feed on them
guiltlessly,
living his place in the world.
Oh that I, too, had acted more selfishly—
palming one tiny turtle,
putting it in my loose pocket,
keeping it safe
away from that broad sea
that has so many means
by which to claim it.

Courage is the prompt word today. This poem is a rewrite of “Putting the Tiny Sea Turtles into the Sea,” a piece I wrote four years ago when the local sea turtle reserve brought dishpans full of the tiny creatures to La Manzanilla for volunteers to assist in releasing them to the wild sea.

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