While the rainstorm moves on, the sky remembers only light. Beneath a rain-washed evening sky, golden sunlight broke through the clouds and illuminated the horizon. Nature seemed content to begin again.
At the End of Day (a Haiku)
Following the rain Nature is smiling again She feels not our pain
The rainstorm moved on, the sky remembered only light, and this song seemed a fitting companion to the evening.
Some poems arrive unexpectedly. This one began with a coffee, a rainy Sunday, and a flock of local ibis flying low beneath lingering clouds. As I watched their steadfast progress through the weather, I found myself reflecting on the grace of creatures that simply continue on their way, unfazed by conditions that might send the rest of us searching for shelter.
Unfazed
Flying low under the radar below the lingering, languid clouds a flock of local ibis is gracefully gliding under the stuporous shroud
Unfazed by the sun’s faded gaze and the daytime moon’s invisible luna blaise the birds remain elegantly close-knit and cooperatively proud.
Amazed, watching from this cosy café where warmth and weather meet as one, I envy their impassive passage, those steadfast, unbending birds through the world’s relentless rain.
Sometimes the sky, the birds, and the music all arrive on the same day. For me, this piece now belongs to the birds and the weather.
Featured Image Above: Originally my blurry photo, which was then sharpened and enhanced by Copilot
High above the clouds, a lone dragonfly pauses to contemplate a world seemingly intent on creating its own troubles. Sometimes a fortunate photograph becomes a poem. In this case, a blurred dragonfly inspired an unsettling phrase and the lines that followed.
Evil Nuclei
I’m a lone dragonfly in a vast, bedazzling sky wondering why there are no other guys up here passing by.
Wait, down there, between Dubai and Versailles, I see a swarm of evil nuclei flying toward the forests of Paraguay, in search of a shady alibi.
As the dragonfly drifts across a bedazzling sky, Moby’s Porcelain lingers among the clouds.
Under a cloudless spring sky, the afternoon sun burnished every wing and feather with a brilliant sheen. Their restless movements through sun, shade, and breeze inspired the following poem, drafted with an HB pencil on a very warm afternoon at the café.
Fervid Feathers
The burnished birds have warily bathed enough under spring’s hot midday sun.
Their reflective, fervid feathers shimmer like sails of sleek black satin.
Then, frantically, the sun-polished birds follow the flighty dragonflies and bees into the succoring shady trees.
Refreshing their fervid feathers in the afternoon’s soothing sea breeze.
As the afternoon heat fades into a soothing sea breeze, here is a charming little song to accompany today’s feathered observations, and one that may be new to some readers.
Quote:“Why do the war’s doors stay closed to friendly paws?” 🐾 … Frankie 🐶
Frankie wrote this poem on October 21st, 2024. In just a few lines, he imagines a peaceful world with an open door, an earthen floor, and a green décor. It is also a heartfelt plea that humanity stops applauding war’s repeated appearances.
Before the poem, here is Matisyahu’s inspiring “One Day”.
Please! No More Encores(Written by Frankie)
When war is over My door will stay open The floor is earthen My decor is green I adore the theme
Please! No more encores I abhor The vapour Of war
Frankie asks for no more encores. The music that follows reflects on why they keep returning, disguised and renamed, as though each generation must learn the same lesson again.
A rainbow above, a wattlebird lifting below — and somewhere between them, a little daydream opened. This poem follows that gentle climb into thin air, where time loosens, and words drift without lines.
Is Time A Daydream?
Wattlebirds and rainbows do not rhyme, but both are sublime, and glow in the sunshine there above my eyeline.
Perhaps a mirage of mine inside my mind during my daydream time.
Where life is not a crime, and the tall alpines are painless to climb.
Up there, beyond thin air, I breathtakingly find — only words with no lines.
For those still wandering between half-waking and half-dreaming… as daydream time drifts beyond thin air, let this beautiful song carry the journey a little further.
This is a poem I haven’t seen since writing it in October 2019. Today, as is my way, I’ve made a few small revisions, but the essence of the original remains intact.
Our Last Stand (Revised)
Crawling over barren pastures of land, On detergent feet and hands, Old arms are now empty of nature’s seeds, I only see future investment greed.
And history’s lessons are hard to understand, When we’re taught disrespect by corporate bands, Who only extinguish life into grains of sand, Instead of regenerating our planet’s last stand
Originally written in 2019 and revisited today, Our Last Stand finds a fitting companion in Archive’s haunting Again, a song that echoes the poem’s reflective mood and enduring message.
Some poems arrive quickly, while others rest patiently in the drafts. After a quiet wait of a few weeks, this haiku seemed ready to take its place among recent reflections on nature and birds.
Presiding (a Haiku)
Here I calmly be Overseeing twilight time The day’s final stand
Today’s haiku is accompanied by Glen Hansard’s beautiful live performance of “Her Mercy”, a song that seemed to share the poem’s quiet patience and reflective spirit.
Watching birds in flight, I am often struck by their grace and seeming freedom from the burdens we humans create for ourselves. Inspired by a series of bird photographs, this poem begins with nature’s gifts before quietly turning its gaze towards a troubled world below.
Nature’s Wings
Birds have wondrous wings and can also sprightly sing
Birds’ lovely lightweight feathers can glide and hover forever
Birds have perceptive eyes and do not criticise or demonise
Birds possess sensitive ears and escape the world’s warring fears
Birds shun the battered ground while eyes still hear that shattered sound
While shaping this poem at the café, I heard “Lift” by Marisa Anderson and felt this gentle melody drifting on the same wings that inspired today’s poem.