Tag: nature

Mourning

A murder of crows
peck at a carcass
beneath the old Spruce
Likely dragged there
by a coyote after feasting

They do that sometimes
a brazen act of rebellion
our bricked presence
blocking the path

I reached for the phone
this morning, wanting to relay
current events, and then…stopped
remembering you are gone
only my carcass remains, rots
at the mocking of crows

Coyotes are tricksters, they say
and I feel picked apart
preyed upon on my own path
the wounds of the past
inviting the mind’s vultures.

What is it all about
this mortality/ immortality?

A dove rests on the porch rail
sleeping despite the crow fray

Peace slumbers on this mournful day.

(Image my own)

Mouse Massacre

There are mouse bits
splayed across the sunroom
stuck to my favourite throw rug
and great globs of glue

The trap my husband set
to catch the recent invasion
apparently lured the hunter
for she, stiff legged and
face matted, is skulking
elsewhere

I stepped on a gluey bit
eyes not yet open
before noting
the disarray

Hard to concentrate
when a tail detached
from a thigh (foot intact)
lie stuck to one’s rug
and entrails drip down
the freshly painted
off-white wall.

Sustenance Rekindled

It wasn’t the knowledge of stability –
chaos had the upper hand back then.
It wasn’t even that love was expressed –
unconditional an unheard of concept

It was an unspoken presence
the reassurance of rocks
the irrepressible allure
of a freshwater stream

How a child’s heart
found encouragement
in the whispering wind
solace in the arbored shelter

Naturally the din of home life
overpowered this self-assured
passage, disrupted kinship
and shattered childish faith

But all that is behind now
and when I clear cluttering
thoughts, disperse static
emotions, quiet the heart

The rhythms are still there –
presence offering sustenance…

(Poem first appeared here, January, 2021. Image my own)

In My Defence


The Great Blue heron declares me an annoyance
to which the Blue Jays rasp accordance –
I know I am akin to predator
but I come here with need
to this bug-infested
weed-ridden
riverbed

To be

Torn
as I am
by an undefinable
rustle, an inner bleed
that craves patterns, or signs
naturally occurring rhythms to define
my place within this current worldly disorder

(Image my own)