Tag Archives: nature poem

The Big Lesson

fusion-medical-animation-EAgGqOiDDMg-unsplash Image by fusion medical animation. Amazing that something so beautiful
could cause such devastation.  As beautiful mankind has, as well.

The Big Lesson

Though isolation is the pits, illness is much worse,
so I must think of things to do while dealing with this curse.

I’m drinking lots of water, blowing hot air up my nose,
disinfecting doorknobs, washing all my clothes.
I have to pass on going out on dinner dates with friends
and make do with freezer food until this virus ends.

I clean out all my cupboards, dig into dusty files
and sort my poems from years ago neatly into piles.
I cancelled out on reading poems at our bi-monthly gathering.
Instead, I overhaul old poems and set about the lathering
of all suspected surfaces: computer, hands and phone.
(The cats both head out for the door, thinking “Leave us alone!”)

I spend all the time with me I used to spend with friends.
When I run out of toilet paper, stock up on Depends.
I eat lots of veggies, wear gloves to read my mail.
Read Facebook obsessively for each new detail
of what they tell us that we must and we must not do
to increase the odds that we will not catch this flu.

This virus has us isolated—true without a doubt,
so I guess I’ll look within since I can’t look without.
I’ll think about past lovers, then drag old albums out
to try to find more memories for me to think about.
While contemplating doomsday and plotting out our ends,
we might as well survey our lives and think about old friends.

Forget that crazy orange fool who tweets and  issues orders
concerning odds and planes and ships and hands and gloves and borders.
Go back to where we should have been, listening to sager folks
with science degrees and doctorates who are not human jokes.
And when the world’s restored to order, when walking past Trump Tower,
try to remember and take heed that nature has the power!

Give her due respect. Mind the oceans and the bees.
Stop fracking and pollution. Earth’s not there for you to seize.
Protect other species, for everything’s connected.
We are not meant to seize and own each thing we have selected.
If nature turns against us, it’s written in the plan.
When creating the natural world, the last thing made was man.

So less depends upon him in the natural way of things.
The world can do without the reordering he brings.
Already wild animals are taking over towns
as a single virus topples presidents and crowns.
We cannot use the atom bomb or missile, drone or gun.
If we wage war with Mother Nature, she’ll be the one who’s won!!!

Writing prompts for the day are looking within, pass, isolation, overhaul and water.

All photos were posted on Unsplash and are used with permission.

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.



I awaken to the insistent music of the morning. The cacophony of bird voices is disrupted by the squeaking of gears of the gravel truck climbing the mountain road past my house. Steam rises from the hot pool echoing the venting of Colima volcano, peeking over the shoulder of the mountain known as Señor Garcia. He has on his cloud sombrero today, which promises rain.

Crisp air of morning.
Mournful chorus of dog howls
echoes siren’s wail.

The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. The WordPress Daily Prompt is disrupt.

Kitchen Nativity

Version 2jdbphoto                                

Kitchen Nativity

I crept into my kitchen to see
what caused this morning’s cacophony.
The high corner of the cupboard wall
seemed to be the source of all
the peepings and it’s then I guessed
a mother bird had made a nest
there above the kitchen ceiling,
where I thought the paint was peeling.
Instead, that white spilled down the wall
outside the kitchen is not at all
what I thought—salitre’s heavings,
but is instead the nestlings’ leavings.

The watching mother stays aloof
on the next-door neighbor’s roof
with mouth filled with a juicy grub.
Now she flies from roof to shrub,
objecting to my presence there,
so close to nestlings in her care.
And so I leave the bird’s domain,
lest nestlings’ voices be raised in vain.
Minutes later, all is still,
although I know ten minutes will
bring more protests from tiny beaks
for wormy treats that mama seeks.
So it is this year again
that Mother Nature invites guests in.
My house now shelters more than me—
my family stretched from “I” to “we.”

What Is of Value


What Is of Value

Now that the grass is freshly mown,
the sparrows can’t leave it alone.
Though we prefer the lovely green,
they prefer what’s gone unseen.
The dry grass underneath is best
for weaving into this year’s nest.
What has value for you and me
is not the same for all, you see.
For the way the world’s devised
is that everything is prized.

The NaPoWriMo prompt today was to compose a poem out of overheard conversations, but since I’ve been in a solitary mood lately, I went down to eavesdrop on the birds and other sounds of nature. Hearing a loud chirping in the huge cactus near my hammock, I noticed birds making repeated trips to the planter full of grass I put near the pool so my Scottie dog Morrie could have a place to lie to drop his tennis ball into the pool for me to retrieve and throw back down into the garden for him to chase after.  The long grass was pretty, but constantly being torn off by his repeated jumps up to and down from the planter and making  a mess in the pool, so I’d had the gardener trim the grass.  Earlier, I’d noted how ugly it now was as the grass underneath had turned brown, but upon closer observation, I realized that it was now a treasure trove for birds building nests.

NaPoWriMo, Day 21.

There’s No Denying Nature, Daily Post Apr 6 and NaPoWriMo Day 5


There’s No Denying Nature

There’s no denying nature, it surrounds us one and all.
Each time the palm tree shudders and its blossoms start to fall,
they cloak the water of my pool and cover every stone
that paves my outer terrace as though they must atone

for some ill that must be covered up, some sin they’re meant to hide.
It cannot be I who have erred, for I am safe inside.
Yet who am I, denying these early April showers?
I come to float upon my back, surrounded by the flowers.

Though they might create problems with the pool drain and the filter,
throwing all our man-made systems more or less off-kilter,
yet each year I must admit I suffer a few qualms
as I call the men to come and trim the refuse from the palms.

There’s no denying nature, be it human or a tree.
Each day as I look up at them, they, too, look down on me.
They see my foibles and excesses—the errors I have sown
And like forgiving neighbors, cloak my messes with their own.



The WordPress prompt today is “denial.” I’m also combining it with the NaPoWriMo prompt for April 4.  That prompt is: a slice of the natural world that you have personally experienced and optimally, one that you have experienced often.




When Papa grabbed his squeezebox and baby hit the gong,
all the other children ran up to play along.
Henry played the drums and Molly the kazoo.
Oscar blew the tuba ’til he started to turn blue.

Sally on the saxophone and Henry on the flute,
Wanda on the trumpet went rootie tootie toot.
Mama led the singing and Grandma hummed along
as one-by-one the children joined them in their song.

All the kids went swaying, rocking on their toes
as they sang a song embellished by cardinals and crows.
The cattle in the pasture joined in with soothing moos—
the cockerels crooning descants with their cockadoodledoos.

The mourning doves sang background, telling of their woes,
while all the little sparrows cheeped neatly from their rows.
The horses voiced their  whinnies and sheep all baaaahed along
until the  world surrounding us had joined in on the song.

Woodpeckers beat percussion until our song was done,
joining us in music that proved that we were one.
Goldfinches and burros were next to join the throng,
all speaking the same language in this singalong.

I heard it from the mockingbird who heard it from the jay.
It was a pretty chorus that rose up from that day.
Now most days thereafter, we’ve sung in harmony.
If everyone would join us, how grand the world could be.


Knock Knock Reknockin’ on a Circadian Door!

                                           Knock Knock Reknockin’ on a Circadian Door!


In nonsmokingladybug’s Knock Knock Prompt, she asks us to link to a piece formerly written.  For my reblog I went waaaaay back to the beginning to a poem I posted when I had very few followers, so I think only two of you (Ann and Patti) following my blog have read it. What poem is it?  It’s a surprise.  You’ll have to open the door by clicking HERE.


Here is the Knock Knock prompt I am answering.  If you are a blogger, perhaps you’d like to answer the prompt as well:  https://nonsmokingladybug.wordpress.com/2015/09/24/knock-knock-writing-challenge-week-5/

Autumn Schmautumn

The Prompt: Autumn Leaves—Changing colors, dropping temperatures, pumpkin spice lattes: do these mainstays of Fall fill your heart with warmth — or with dread?

Autumn Schmautumn

The only colored leaves I see are going to be faux,
for autumn never visits in my part of Mexico.
In fact, those piles of autumn leaves are far back in my past.
Green on the leaves in Mexico just lasts and lasts and lasts.
It’s true that each leaf everywhere must one day be defeated,
but down here where I live, the only way leaves are unseated
is not by frigid temperatures. There’s no cold to unglue them.
Our only leaf-removal means is cutter ants that chew them!
The ones who cut them down are all the bravest and the best.
Their comrades wait below to carry them all to their nest.
Their robberies completed without the slightest peep,
their piles of leaves depleted in the nighttime while we sleep.
Our guard dogs doze on soundly as ants pass by in the dark,
letting all these thieveries go on without one bark.
And so I fear that this far south no autumn colors are viewed.
Our trees create no spectacle. They go from green to nude!
And though ants harvest all our leaves—just chew them off and take them,
at least they grant us favors in that we don’t have to rake them!