Late night buzz on a deck in the woods,
Laughter from inside:
When the moth landed
her hand opened warmly
and it rested for minutes.
For a moth, that’s a long relationship;
for my love, a brief enchantment
on a warm evening.
Category Archives: nature
Puddles
I had the surprising pleasure
Of watching a Robin take a bath
In a puddle.
I’d seen it before, but
I hadn’t seen it before;
I stubbed out my cigarette
And laughed and clapped
Crying “Encore!”
I wonder what they must think
And if they laugh
On those rainy spring and autumn days
When, the water having pooled
In the backyard
We go a-splashing and shouting.
Do they imagine that we
Don’t know the proper technique
For bathing?
Mourning Doves
Occasionally a Mourning Dove,
That rooftop rose and cooing star,
Portly statue on the telephone lines,
Cracks of voice as it sings its memoir,
Like some excited, adolescent boy
On the second syllable- “who ARE-
you, you, you” reminds me well
That flaws need not my efforts jar.
The Starlings and the Rain
Much was lost in those days of rain
Yet little that I miss,
But the sight I most enjoyed:
The starling flock of which I reminisce.
The clever ones found a piece of bread
Among the rubbish lost in floods
And dropped the burden to the ground
Which soon mired in fetid muds;
And the starlings, black and grey,
All came down to seize the day.
Many came to quarrel on it-
That they should be gourmand-
Of that loathsome, soiled food
Of which they’re all so fond.
The loudest, not the largest as I’d thought
Would often in the caucus win
The right to boisterously peck
At this bread so stale and thin;
But quickly challengers regrouped
And feather storms ensued;
And for a great while, watching-
I enjoyed this worthless feud.
And the starlings, black and grey,
All took part in this fool’s fray.
So long and loudly did they bicker,
That in time some larger creature,
Sauntered in and feasted sweetly,
Behold the wild, life’s great teacher;
And the starlings, black and grey
Each sulked off, on their own way;
And the starlings, black and grey
Have learned nothing from that day.
Let’s Don’t
I’ve my poisons, you have yours
Pray you do not preach
I smoke, you’re never outdoors
Death will each of us reach
I love my wine, my woods, my shores
You keep your vices in your drawers:
Let’s don’t spoil this friendship with scores
Let’s not, for listlessness, impeach
And scratch at one another’s sores
Let’s waste no time upon these horrid bores.
The Night has a Face
I gallop home only to halt
Looking up at the immensity
Of her milk and navy cheeks
Sliver-moon lip of great intensity –
Beside it a genial beauty mark
And dim-litted freckles festooned
So I’ve nothing to hurry about
On my front step, mesmerised, marooned.
Dream Fruit
There is a tree outside my window
Grey, peeling bark, and flesh of white
A full circumference of horizontal arms
And little treelings, huddled tight.
I take photographs of it each week
At certain fascinating hours
When the sky opens colourful curtains
And all my sight devours.
The tree is leaf-barren in winter
But its arms are laden with fruit
Small, soft and perfectly round
Much of it fallen about the root.
The silhouette of this tree, against
The curtain is pleasing to my eye
And as I stare, mesmerised
A purple martin perches, by and by.
I fancy the little fruit balls fall
Each sunset- and at dawn
Already are replaced on the arms
Before a single local’s yawn-
I imagine them to be dreams
Of children, squirrels and mine –
That dare to test the gravity,
And fall one at a time.
prince nothing 