Nature Poetry - Blog Posts

Sun, swallow me whole. I want to be beautiful to my own accord. I want solitude that does not kill. For once, i want to be the light that permeates and guides someone to liberty. If not sunrise, then sunset at the very least. I am a myriad of flaws. I was told that light could make terror beautiful, too. Come, devour me. I don’t care if you burn my skin or suffocate my lungs—I want to be whole.

I Take Pictures of Flowers

Who:

For my love, to make her smile

When a purple blossom makes

Me think of her favorite color.

For my Tumblr followers when

I post proof of my wilderness walks.

For my soul, so I might revisit these

Moments of awe and beauty.

For these,

I take pictures of flowers.

What:

A moment caught in my

Binary bug net,

A digital trace of my travels,

A daily commute or intentional stroll.

And along the way,

I take pictures of flowers.

Where:

My cloud storage fills

To the brim, and I deign to

Empty a single pixel.

Yellow, then red warnings of

Limited space,

But still,

I take pictures of flowers

Why:

To preserve what I cannot

Trust myself to remember.

Every detail, every shimmer on

A petal, every ring of color,

Every fold and roll and pleat.

To replace what I cannot have;

With no box or garden or

Sun-exposed pot,

I can only hold onto these beauties

In digital form.

When:

The golden hours escape me,

But they are probably sour grapes,

A cast of yellow hue on a face,

Not meant for leaf or colored bract.

Nay, whenever the feeling hits,

I pull out my device.

No process or plan in mind,

I snap one or two decent photos

And continue on my way.

Moment by moment

I take pictures of flowers.

How:

Only carefully, gently,

Holding the camera as I would

Carry a basket of down.

Motionless, I hold my breath and

Press the button.

My phone, with the help

Of an AI worth my trust,

Or with my moderately expensive

Camera I would like to buy

A macro attachment for.

I know not the specifics of how

My precious ladies make it onto

Film or image, but even so

I take pictures of flowers.

Desert Cherry Blossom

Under lacey shade and golden rain

Desert cherry blossom trickles

Bright desert light onto a bed of pebbles.

A verdin hops branches, calling all the time

Honeyed warble from blue-green twigs.

Florid sprigs along crooked boughs,

Silken sun-drops flit to the ground.

Bees delight in their bounty,

Bobbing from petals, bringing new life.

Soon, these skirts are traded for

Seeds, their pods forage for locals.

Gifts abound from smooth-barked

Florida, this Parkinsonia blessing

All who alight in and around her

Resplendent wings.

Potent Ponds

Steeping in cool waters

The saffron sun on the

Bowl of the pond.

Taking my vitamins every

Morning, the C in my veins

Mingling with the salt in my eyes.

I ride two buses to my chapel

Of peace, a set of flowing

Waters, unblessed but holy to me.

Pacing the dusty paths of

The preserve, I ponder the

Wild waterbirds, wandering.

The ducks, unburdened by

Prejudice, finding their ways

Along the tiny beaches.

The spice of life, I infuse my days

With the fine herbs of musical

Birdsong and chords of clouds.

Finalizing my day's work,

I board the buses home, busy days

Ahead, but for now, hallowed, heady harmony.

Music of the Planet

From Dusk Till Dawn

Rising and setting, back to back

Sunrises and sunsets, two sides of a coin

One watches the world awaken with a “hello”

The other says “goodbye” to the world as it slumbers

A gentle touch of pink,

Spreading across a dull blue sky,

The sun peeps over the horizon,

A glowing gold, shifting across the sky,

Hello, hello

Watching the sun rise from a dormitory roof,

Taking pictures of the quiet world,

A happy memory of the dawn,

Violet shades and periwinkle colours,

Fade away into brighter flames,

Orange, red, pink; set sparks to the west,

The flames are chased by night-time colours,

Goodbye, goodbye,

Gazing into the sunset,

Relaxing, breathing, unwinding,

A new photo added to the album,

Meetings and partings, two sides of a coin

Back to back, the new page uncovered,

Many reunions and blessed memories,

Stored in this little sunrise and little sunset.

- Shinkai

A Tale of Tree

I write this as I sit under a tree, It’s beauty, a specimen of nature, you see; It’s flower, so warm and bright, Like the friend who stays with you, On a summer’s night. Its leaves, so dainty and green, Just like a ballerina’s ‘petit’. The way it sways in the wind, so light and sweet, Reminds me of carolers on New Year’s Eve. It has stories left untold, The rings held in the trunks, old. Its branches like a friendly embrace amidst a crowd, Its tender touch to erase all foul. I bid farewell to thee my tree, My tree of tales, A tale of tree.

I'd prefer to sit awhile

waiting for the storm to come

the heavens rush and clamour and sing

but the rain is kept hidden

beneath the canopy of this weeping willow tree

I am hollow in this coursing wind, a brightened shell and song within.

I am raging in this ocean sky, the greying light a burning sign.

I am buried in my absent mind, wrapped and beating this blurry sound.

For one gradually passing moment

the swirling mist clears a path

leaving cool crystals grasping

onto each strand of grass

Even in shadow

does nature thrive

a silent spectre

full of bristling sighs

with a glimmer

the light then shows

the blooming tree preserved

alive in its shadow

Black foggy mountains

bow beneath the legacy

of a golden sun

Wednesday, 28th July 2021

Love is more than the dream wistfully painted across torn pages in dripping ink and meadows of wildflowers, by writers and poets huddled by candlelight seeing love written in beloved faces. Seeing love in yearning clouds slowly chasing after the sun's fragile rays. Love is heartache and hurt and pain - a climbing river pushing back against everything you know. It inspires and challenges, it breathes life and ends it. It is everything we want and everything we do not dare to have. Love can bring just as much destruction to the harmony it creates. But it’s never about what love is or what it is not - it is how we shape its destiny within our own lives that counts. Love will always be with you, but will you let it stay? And sometimes we know that we just have to chase it away. 

Tuesday, 20th July 2021

At night in quiet solitude of the passing day

I turn the yellowing pages of the waxing moon

Molten in a burning light to show its age

And cast in pooling stains of inky blue

It glows in flickers of a dying candle light

Wrapped in a purple wreath, delicately crowned

An encroaching darkness consuming the night

It dims its eyes to rest amongst the drowned

You can get lost in nature

it entices you into its graceful grasp

luring you into a dream

of eternal sunshine

You walk with stars on your feet

trailing glory in your waking path

rosy fingers grazing smokey clouds to meet

the dawning skies above

Thursday, 8th July 2021

There is freedom in the shadowed storm as the veil-wrapped sky billows in a climbing release. I lay here on the rough strewn ground, a wilderness of rain-kissed grass, tumbled yarn, and loose cut threads. Find me in the running lake carving eyes into the overgrown path, lost to the planted sky now curling into a silver smile.

Freedom is more than just running through the rain on Thursday afternoons.

Wednesday, 7th July 2021

As the thunder roars in such tumultuous pain, the sun singes the rim of every cloud until the whole sky is cloaked in a brightened sadness, a softening grey. And the world will sit in shallow wine while the teardrops of the encroaching night play in ripples across the sun's sleeping face, waiting for the moon blank and ghostly behind the starless sky. It is new tonight but hidden from sight, it bows in heavenly patience.

Midsummer

I feel laden with unsaid dreams

spilling over my hair, my feet

walking through a daylit night

full of sparkling stars and troubled sleep

There are roses in your cheeks

and violets in your eyes -- 

all devotion to the setting skies

This deafening cacophony 

creates a solitary peace

encompassed in small rooms

rippling a quiet release

Hold me over a rainbow

Hold me over the tearful seas

Hear the blackbird calling

Calling through the breeze

You hurt me with your fragile words;

lonely is the new day's speech

and the quiet beholds a solemn time

filled with empty promises, I hear you speak

of nothing more than darkness folding

consuming all to sit and see

a new day filled with quietly spoken

words now absent

of your cruel mind and damning speech

It’s quite nice to spend a while dancing through time

suspended in its ticking hours and days 

forever a breath away from endless moments

A lady in the sky, she follows

dawn’s peaceful light

in wait of tomorrow's guilt,

burning beneath a mountain of clouds

each one darker than the last,

and yet she shines

brighter than any sun in any sky,

she wanders near those setting scales

backed by lions in a crow like roar

waiting to feed the passing day

a lady in the sky, she waits

Blossom

A ghost is perched in the middle of the lane

softly swaying in a dull grey wind;

she has bloomed but now is still

full of ghostly feathers, like cotton

sheets fresh and waiting,

a new woven straw hat 

balanced on the crowded brass hook,

pillows of clouds and endless days

with no rain but the grass is dewy eyed 

and lost in a trailing book,

flyaways cutting a boundless sight,

some days are long and grey 

but then the nights --

           -- the blossom tree outside my window

tells me when spring is here

yet it is wasted in a silent darkness

softly perched in the middle of the lane,

feathers orange in the glow of a thousand sunsets

waiting to be seen again

The days are spent in glory and sun

until rain casts its violent shadow;

a storm to herald a setting moon

and bring life again, glory again --

                                  -- it will be here soon

Rain falls on the many and sunshine only a few. In moments of joy, rain sure does feel like sunshine.