Poetry is a natural form of writing for me. For 10 years I wrote a new Wild Thought every Wednesday. They’ve shifted to monthly poems now, but every time I write one, I better remember who I am.
Original poetry to inspire you to Live Wild.
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The kind that pounds the ground and splashes up
caking low leaves in mud
spattering dirt into mosaic designs on higher foliage.
Five minutes later…
Clear delicious air, the kind that only comes after rain.
Wind, even blue sky amidst the dazzling clouds.
This is a joyful poem.
I was going to write about poppies.
About the way they shoot skyward
then burst into color so rich
that you feel it as well as see it.
It was to be a simple poem
about being in the moment.
The poppies a lovely example
of something glorious and fleeting,
as their paper thin petals
last but a few days.
The birds start before dawn
when there is just a hint of light in the dark sky.
I like to think they are greeting the day
although there is a lot else going on to be sure.
From territory disputes to nest building
laying, incubating, or hatching
calling to one another
or, I’m just certain, singing because it’s morning.
It doesn’t matter how many decades I’ve been doing it.
Every single year, when I plant vegetable seeds
the size of a pin head into soil
I am mesmerized and astonished when they sprout.
Some are tenderly nursed along indoors
establishing some roots before they are set in the garden–
exposed, then, to elements
that both hinder and encourage their growth.
Solstice is a powerful teacher:
the trickster who invites you to go out sledding on a moon-less night.
Daring you to take a risk, to lean in,
to stay with what is uncertain and unseen.
She whispers in your ear as the sled starts to move,
Your vision limits you here.
Your desperation to see keeps you from seeing.
In this place, we see not with our eyes, but with our whole being.
This fall season arrived with bountiful sun and rain.
A blend that promises the extended version
of high definition fall foliage.
And so it is that I step outside to a day that is yellow.
The color permeates everything:
the scent, the feel,
even the taste of the air is gloriously yellow,
with hints of red and gold
and a finish of russet oak leaves.
My friend said,
“Just plant this and watch what happens.”
So a small hole was dug
the roots covered and watered
the sprawling stalks given room to stand limply.
With sun, some water, and a little time
the stalks began to perk up.
turning eventually to bursts of spiked purple petals.