Written in Nature

Ripe, the words,

in skies and seas

in sunset’s linger

in summer’s breeze.

Plump, the words,

in rain-filled clouds

or mist-less air

the view surrounds.

the thoughts arouse.

Spiced, the words,

in rushing streams

in forests deep

with endless dreams.

Find them, hold them, smell them, taste!

Interweave what nature’s graced.

**

(The handwriting in the above photoshopped image belongs to John Steinbeck, author)

I Only Like It Hot

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Each time I see the color pink

I blink to clear my eyes

because that hue before me

makes me want to immunize

 

It’s not that I hate girly things

assigned to that one color

it’s just that if I owned that tint

my closet, it would holler

 

But any other color always

 makes my eyes squint smiles

I wear them any time or place

with flair, in every style

 

There is one way that’s quite okay

(and nothing is for naught)

in nature pink that sizzles

is the one that I call “hot.”

 

photo credit

via Blink

Feed the Birds

Come feed the little birds, show them you care
And you’ll be glad if you do
Their young ones are hungry
Their nests are so bare
All it takes is tuppence from you
Feed the birds, tuppence a bag,
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag
“Feed the birds, ” that’s what she <he> cries
While overhead, her <his> birds fill the skies
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Lyrics by Songwriters: Richard M. Sherman / Robert B. Sherman (Mary Poppins)
Feed the Birds lyrics © Walt Disney Music Company
painting by CD-W from a photo I took in Italy

The Waterfall’s Encore

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I would loathe to be a waterfall

shed constant tears or’r  worries wall

A heart of sadness would entail

a final curtain call

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But I’d sit on top a streaming run

in early morn ‘fore day’s begun

to feel the soothing water flow

awaiting for the sun

 

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Each day that passes I’d proudly stand

to watch the torrent, water fanned

and listen as it plays the tune

of nature’s gift well planned

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But to live beneath the fountain’s pour

unbroken moments of encore

inhale the mist of motioned life

I’d want for nothing more

 

 

 

 

 

 

photo 1:  credit by Jim Warren Art

photo 2:  credit

photo 3: painted by self  (after another artist who’s painting I unfortunately can’t locate  to give due credit)

photo 4: credit

 

The Way of Things

I remember this, my last conversation with Papa.

He, trying to alleviate our pain.

But I heard, through his bravado

the saddened beat of my heart

submerged in deep water

no knowledge of how to stay afloat

grief no words could express

He said,

“Remember the sandhill crane?”

How could I forget?

Long necks

the sound of their rattle calls  

broad wings flying over

ancestral farmland

He said,

“She’s like the hourglass that drips the sand of time

replenishes herself by picking leftovers from the field

She keeps moving forward.

She never stops.

She is you

and she is me.

Our fields, too deep to forget

Too vast to go away.

I will never truly leave you” 

“Is this the way of things, Papa?”

 “Ja, mein liebes.” 

“It is,” he smiled.

sandhill-cranes-dancing-jon-janosik

 

Prose adapted from my novel, “Naked, She Lies

Photo credit

Express

the Sighing of pedals

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I grow my flowers lovingly

 I  touch, their pedals sigh

from knowing of their task in life

–delight and mystify.

The rose, it’s thorns protective, pierce

a skin, naive of threat

but once a droplet, red, descends

the memory’s inset

As the milkweed draws the monarchs

quite stupefied am I

to learn a universe as this

creates to gratify.

 

 

Early artwork by CD-W (I guess because of its simplicity, it’s still one of my favorites)