Category: Nature Poetry

  • Naturaleza’s Secret

    Naturaleza’s Secret

    Women are beautiful,
    and abundant as flowers.

    The intellect
    does not strain to recognize
    lyrical contours of face and figure,
    nor is it an effort
    for it to note softly blushing skin
    and flashes of vibrant hair.

    Nature does not make itself unknown.

    But then
    there is the sudden lightning
    of the one woman.
    She, the culminated genesis
    of perfect thought, mannerism, and form.

    Within an instant
    your senses become a stuttering
    utterly overwhelmed awe.

    You have discovered Nature’s trove
    veiled in obvious sunrises, mountains, and stars.

    The secret blossomed in the garden.
    And this is when you fall

    in love.

  • Christ

    Christ

    I found a flower on the ground,
    the only flower sprouting through a field of concrete.

    I called it Jesus.

    Every morning,
    I visit to watch the miraculous thing
    lift up the sun, marveling
    at how it pulls light into cupped leaves,
    and scatters it.

    Jesus calls it rain,
    and every day I,
    with all the creatures of the land,
    all critters crawling on cement,
    drink until well drunk.

    We then watch clouds swirl into stars
    and laugh.

    Sometimes,
    to make us laugh some more,
    Jesus takes a seed,
    covers it with sand,
    and skips it across the night-water,
    where its reflection becomes our reflection,
    a silver joy round in endless sky.

    After a while,
    on those nights,
    birds descend into their nests,
    dogs and cattle nestle,
    and long echoing yawns
          slip
    from the bottom of my chest
    to fill the land with sleep.

    We sleep, Jesus and I.
    We dream, Jesus and I.

    Our dreamscapes never needing concrete.
    We never needing legs,
    with their bulky burden of muscle, bone, and flesh.

    We fly
    like fish fly sea.

    We breathe
    like fish breathe sea.

    The world is open
    and we are free
    to forget who is who,
    and what is what,
    and what the name of Jesus is.

    That is the sweetest thing.

    On these many flights I cry,
    and my sad and happy tears scatter—

    Always, I wake
    on level ground,
    with half remembered dreams
    sprouting through my heart.

  • The Woods

    The Woods

    It’s so nice here.
    I feel like a newborn in love,
    like someone looking at the Sun
    feeling a tickling in their heart.

    A giddy spell is overwhelming
    my freshly blossomed senses,
    and a shiver slides
    along the cord still connected
    to the womb;

    an old laughter stirs:
    it is the Joy of the World. 

  • Defoliate

    Defoliate

    Sometimes I feel horrid,
    like a lecherous man
    who takes what he wants
                        and then leaves—

    I venture into Woods,
    inhale her orchid scent,
    bathe in her turquoise stream,
    and dance,
    holding her long leafy tresses in the palms of my hand.

    How I love you! I sing,
    grateful for all of her gifts.
    My poems sprouting like butterflies
                               in her expanse of flowers—
                                                                   

                            then I leave.