poetry

Mother teases as the seasons creep

Icey River

Mother teases as the seasons creep.

 

Mother teases as the seasons creep.
She knows what she wants, and she can’t help but give glimpses
of the fires that bellow below her crusted coverings.

Ragged tufts of green poke between the crusts and cracks.
A bountiful bust of blossoms stands between the stations.

Can the turning of seasons come so closely to the deeps of winter’s despair?

That is not ours to say.
But it is ours to hope.
 
We hope
and hope
and hope some more.

Life waits between the peaks and valleys. Fire strikes at the midpoint, snuffing desolation with its bawdy smolder. Its flames belch dance and song, bread and wine.

It is springtime, and it comes again.

Feb. 2, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Earth: This time around

Used Under Creative Commons by permission of Todd Huffman

Earth: This time around

 

This life. This time around.
This blue-green gate of experience
is the place from where
our ancestors came and went.
It is our cradle and our casket.

This is the earth we stand upon:
We walk as creatures born of mud and dust.
We walk as creatures born as equals.
We walk in a miasma of existance, unaware of the life in which we tread. Look around!

Earth is.
Earth was.
Earth as will ever be.

We will break our mother's heart again and again
but she will take us back when we come to her.
We love her for it.

Wisdom of the earth is knoweldge incarnate, built of beauty, bone, peat and power.
On Earth, my friend, your virtue is reborn.

Jan. 25, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Lady Crow visits and shivers.

Crow By

Lady Crow visits and shivers

 

Smelling of oil and spilled road salt, Lady Crow takes a short rest on the barren tree that grows along the shoreline. She shakes and preens. She puffs and combs her feathers. She looks to the white sky and sighs; it is a cold day and the promise of spring flickers only slightly on the horizon. It will be colder before it is warm again.

 

With a stretch of her wings she floats away from the winter wind by becoming part of it.

 

  Pearls of snow flutter down from her perch, their journey a short-lived legacy of her visit. They sparkle as they fall.

 

 

Jan. 10, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

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