Seasoned Fruit

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.

Galatians 6:9

Pea ponds dangled in early summer breeze, as their late fruit bulge in green jackets waiting to emerge from their resting cove.
People wander through life in hopes of achieving; while nurturing good grows stale.

Seedy raspberries, filled with sweet summer juice hang from brittle, dried, thorny canes;
will soon plop to the earth if not picked.
Sin runs through the veins of people waiting
to sow destruction and bring forth evil fruit.

Green tomatoes wait patiently to ripen; long for the thunder storm in which their tantalizing, tender, taste emerges forth.
Grace gives hope in dark places and bares a quality of fruit in which to satisfy a man’s soul.

One can follow the Light and do good, or wallow in darkness snuffing out seasoned fruit to bring love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control. What will be gathered in the basket a man carries?

P. Wolf, author linking to https://earthweal.com/2021/07/26/earthweal-weekly-challenge-lammas/

Nature Therapy

This bog of mine comes from a trickling brook surrounded by ‘the ancients’, tall and majestic trees of old; beyond is a local river filled with memories untold-good and some evil doings- along miles of open prairie filled with bustling, busy butterflies sipping nectar from a field of wild flowers drenched in morning dew; further and above are foot hills below the towering mountain peeks, still snow capped, they see all things; even the rough, ragging waters of the seas (many have drowned in trials and sorrows from the evil world around them); yet, knowingly, they are resilient as the waves of the sea calm, the mountains stand FIRM, the Prairie sings a lullaby, the RIVER moves on, the trees WILL continue to grow! As for my mellow, marshy bog… I will sit, still knowing there is Someone so much greater than I and linger in the wind.

“ I will love You, O Lord, my strength. The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; My God, my strength, in whom I will trust; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised; So shall I be saved from my enemies.” Psalm 18:1-3

P. Wolf linking to: https://earthweal.com/2021/06/28/a-prayer-for-hard-times/

Mizzle, Drizzle Day

Leaves tremble in the slightest of breeze, like a tea cup in the hand of an old man. Mizzle, drizzle drips, drips from cloudy sky were wisp of fog swirls in a creative dance.

Spring rains bring a melancholy mood, except for the wiggly, squiggly worms who stretch high about earth to moisten their tight skin, like slathering cream on wrinkles.

Birds nestled deep, deep in fresh nests covering, hovering atop precious young; eggs intact waiting to hatch and one day fledge like all our young will also do.

What silly, willy nonsense runs through a poet’s mind on dreary, dreamy days? Lilacs know as their sweet syrupy scent drift in empty spaces; to enjoy a moment in time.

It’s been a long few weeks of Covid. I’m tired, but my brain seems to want to see the best of the things around me. I’ve written kid’s poetry in the past. This is dedicated to the young writer. 😉

Winter Stillness


Stillness in the snow,
pearl arraignment eastern sky…
paint brush from above.

Stillness in woodland,
snowbirds climb tiered tree branches,
wind whispers winter’s thaw.

Stillness in dawn sky,
dollops of snow on tall pines;
winter covers earth.

A haiku winter poem for earthweal open link weekend #53

P.L. Wolf, poet & author of Jemi’s Noble Quest

“She is not afraid of snow for her household,

For all her household is clothed with scarlet.”

Psalm 31:21

“But no matter how low the mercury dips, or how deep the snow cover, you’ll find winter birds of Wisconsin going about their business. Small flocks of black-capped chickadees search for food, foraging for seed and suet. They often join nuthatches, cardinals, downy woodpeckers, and others at backyard feeders.”

birdwatchersdigest.com

Wisconsin average snowfall ranges from about 40 inches in the south to as much as 160 inches along the shores of Lake Superior. On average, about 35 to 40 winterweather events hit Wisconsin each winter.”

Wisconsindot.gov

Indian Summer

Dusk settles as dust across earthen land,

as warmth seeps slowing from woodland

stretched before me like a downed comforter.

Come warmth, come and slip between

leaf’s edges, slide down empty limbs as

luminous sun grins across the autumn sky.

Indian Summer charms man’s inner soul,

tricks the body’s brisk well being;

but the mind knows this is November!

Breathe in the last of lingering warmth;

let it radiate, resonate, regurgitate before

the killing frost returns to blanket the earth.

“Lyric night of the lingering Indian summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing. Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper’s horn, and far off, high in the maples The wheel of a locust slowly grinding the silence, Under a moon waning and worn and broken, Tired with summer.” -Sarah Teasdale

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) was an American Poet

The perfect weather of Indian summer lengthened and lingered, warm sunny days were followed by brisk nights with Halloween a presentiment in the air.” -Wallace Stegner

Wallace Stegner (1909 –1993) was an American novelist and historian

An Indian summer is a period of unseasonably warm, dry weather that sometimes occurs in autumn in temperate regions of the northern hemisphere September to November.

This year it has come rather late in Wisconsin. Most of the trees have shed their leaves, we have endured freezing temperatures and seen a dusting of snow.

Junes’ Song

Before slice of dawn…
after throaty bullfrogs croak
and birds begin their shrill;

there is a parcel of time
in which no sounds emerge
out in the inky darkness of night.

Over shadowy country landscapes,
under the veil of bright spring morn
there settles an empty, hollow stillness.

And some doze, as other stir:
‘bove bright blue buntings breed
below badger burrows down deep.

Arise with break of new dawn…
Lower your daily plans, read the Word!
There one will find stillness of heart.

I rise before the dawning of the morning,
And cry for help; I hope in Your word.

My eyes are awake through the night watches,
That I may meditate on Your word.

Psalm 119:147-148

The Dwelling

DSCN7474_edited-1

On mucky, cloudy days
there’s poetry in my pond.

From solstice to equinox;
it crosses winter’s ray.

Admired the woodchuck,
on his groundhog’s day.

Yet, the busy muskrat
chases Eternal clouds away.

Grassy tower stands…
it stirs, shifts, and sways.

Till… last of days.

“As water disappears from the sea,
And a river becomes parched and dries up,
So man lies down and does not rise.
Till the heavens are no more,
They will not awake
Nor be roused from their sleep.”
Job 14: 11-12

We know so much about the groundhog, but it’s the muskrat that stays awake all winter at water’s edge munching on grasses. He’s a busy little thing piling up a tower of reeds and marsh debris to make his cozy abode. I’d say there’s poetry in that… just as you will find over at dVerse, as poets use their imagination with a form of the word “poem”.