Tag Archives: Nature

The Arborist’s Dilemma

In the pandemic work has been scarce

And rent is still not free

So I was ecstatic when an old hermit

Said he had yard work for me.

He showed me what once was a noble old cedar

That once proudly stood in the park

Until some young people, for whatever reason,

Stripped the old tree of its bark.

The old man had hired me to glue to the cedar

A fresh set of bark, to restore

A tree to its glory. That ends not the story

Because, yes, you guessed it… there’s more

For In the pandemic, unemployed and discouraged

I’d taken to habits of drinking,

And on that bright morning I set off to work

I was out of the habit of thinking.

With heart full of vigor and head well hungover

I glued on a bucket of bark

And though the idea at first seemed uncanny

The contrast, in hindsight, was stark!

And then the old hermit came to see progress

And laughed with a senile glee,

Saying “I meant the cedar beside the bench, boy.

“I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree!”

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A Sonnet For When Your Vegan Girlfriend Puts You In The Doghouse

How soft the calling of the rose in bloom;

Its rage not diminished by its small size,

For it has seen a man deliver doom

With not a drop, remorseful, from his eyes.

The rose who screams has seen its brothers fall,

Cleft and tied as trinkets for a hot date.

It cries without lungs, giving it its all,

Petals in bloom, show’ring it foes with hate.

Then red and white and pink and gold align

Together in the vengeful rose’s song,

A harmony unheard by humankind

Until they are a dozen voices strong.

Then weep! The florist ends their final day.

Aren’t you relieved I brought you no bouquet?

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Preservation of Mass

You were the light of their life,

A celestial body just for them,

But there were a billion stars

Brighter than you.

Your heart was a mountain,

Climbing to the sky,

But roads need gravel

And miners need jobs.

You were the wind and the water,

The rabbit and the fox,

The fish and the hook

And you fed them for a day.

Stars burn out,

Roads are passed by,

Winds stop blowing,

Foxes stop chasing,

And when its dark and still

And you forget what you were,

How you burned and grew

And bit and blew,

You’ll become a part of the world

You thought you were above;

A spark, a stone, a cell, a drop,

What you always were

And always did:

Matter.

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The REAL Cause of Global Warming (and How to Fix It)

Before the internet was made

Antarctica was nice:

Just peaceful people chilling

On an endless sheet of ice.

But after wifi came along

Antarctica, once fine,

Fell immediately into

Inescapable decline

Because one lonely penguin

(Or perhaps a polar bear)

Signed on to ye olde internet

Just to see what’s there.

That was when the searcher

Received the first and fatal clue:

“Are you feeling lonely?

“Check out hot singles near you.”

Now I am not a penguin

(Nor am I a polar bear)

But whatever sorry animal saw

The advertisement there

Went looking for hot singles

Due to loneliness they felt,

Not thinking that the hotness

Just might cause the ice to melt.

Now we find Antarctica

Is little more than ocean

Because of one’s animal needs

(At least that is my notion).

So if we want the glaciers back

And want to stop tides rising

My must delete the internet

(At least that’s my surmising).

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Self-Portrait as Crappy Little Beach

It’s forty-seven Fahrenheit;

The sky and I are gray.

No one smart will sunbathe nude

On my poor sand today.

The waves are lapping loudly

Redefining what I am:

I’m a crappy little beach

In a town called Bellingham.

Observing me are humans,

Ages 3 to ninety-five

And a pair of lazy seagulls

Simply glad to be alive.

My face is made of footprints

Carved from mud and little feet

And a single tiny castle

Built in days when there was heat.

A single browning leaf still flies

Above the tiny moat,

Unnoticed by the passerby

Who try not to emote.

Beside me are some benches

With some names carved on their backs

Of love too poor or humble

To be featured on the plaques.

A lovely woman sits on me

With eyes locked on her phone,

Avoiding passing glances

Though she’s scared to be alone.

I’m here in every season

And I listen when you talk,

Supporting you in silence

As upon my back you walk.

I’ll be here with the sunset

And I’ll welcome you at dawn.

I’m a crappy little beach

Here until you’re long since gone.

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What’s In A Nest?

Let me show you my nest,

The place I rest my head,

Full of feathers and down,

The protection we shed.

We’ll regrow them in time.

They adorn my haven,

Nothing but sticks and mud

And a home for a raven.

My nest’s in a tree.

The tree’s made by rain.

Rain makes my wings heavy

And makes flying pain.

If the sun comes around

And then refuses to set

I’ll have no tree or nest,

So I pray to be wet.

Bugs and worms fill me up

So I may keep eggs warm

So my nest will be full

With a small raven swarm

Who complain of the rain

And fear losing a feather

And I don’t mind their kind

And I treasure “together.”

Soon they’ll be showing

A tree with their nest

And “together” is gone

And it’s all for the best.

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Very Grounded

The loyal tortoise ambles

Through a forest full of brambles

Where once a meadow full of flowers flourished,

Where once the stamens danced

And petals bright entranced

Now a harsher foliage is nourished.

The tortoise tries a bite

Of whatever plant’s in sight

Its mouth enduring savagery and pain

For the aged tortoise knows

That they who seek a rose

Will, in the process, find that thorns they gain.

The tortoise eats its pick

Though much may make it sick

In hopes of finding what it thinks is lost.

The tortoise chews and bleeds

Just to satisfy its needs,

To find its rose regardless of the cost.

Somewhere amid the brush,

In a pocket, dark and hushed,

A seed emerges from the salty soil.

Its leaves taste stale air,

But the seed does not despair

For beauty never grows bereft of toil.

Someday the rose will bloom

And emerge amidst the gloom.

Perhaps the tortoise finds it after all.

Fearless are the plants of old,

Or so another tortoise told

In tales to seeds and to the ones who crawl.

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Too Old

When I am too old to dream,

My mouth too old to smile,

I’ll place my hand upon the land

And feel the Earth a while.

Upon my skin, too loose to shape,

I’ll feel the critters crawl,

Relearning birth through mother Earth

And joy in being small.

I’ll feel the weeds begin to grow

O’er feet too slow to flee

And feel at peace as I release

What I mistook as me.

I’ll look upon my old abode

With eyes I’ve never known,

Then look on all that dared to crawl

And all that’s ever flown,

To use the sight I once ignored

Or else dismissed in haste

And understand ’twas not my hand

On which the insects paced,

‘Twas not my flesh I left behind,

‘Twas not my body gone,

But merely tools to comfort fools

Before their moving on.

When I am both too old to dream

And old enough to go

I’ll make my lair in everywhere

Until you say hello.

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How Ominous?

I saw an omen in the night.

I said, “You’re bad.”

It said, “You’re right.”

You say you saw the omen too.

You said, “You’re good.”

It said, “That’s true.”

I asked the omen, “How is it

“To them you’re great,

“To me you’re shit?”

The omen smiled and replied

“I choose to be

“What you decide.”

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Constellations

On evenings free of clouds and light

One can look upon the sky,

On twinkling stars and silent night

And think of tales the stars belie.

You’ll see Orion, proud and strong,

Bears and dippers, great and small,

A Zodiac twelve members strong,

And not a truth among them all!

Of what are constellations made?

Nature’s lines drawn by the dead,

Sparkling points on Heaven sprayed

And named by man for men misled.

Wives read horoscopes ’til late

As Cygnus and Aquila gleam.

The constellations of their fate

Are closer than they first may seem.

The stars above are heroes past

To marvel at by absent sun,

But we are heroes born at last,

You and I and everyone.

Look not to the stars for love

Or what the future mayhap hide.

Dreams come not from up above

But from the stars we are inside.

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