Woodpecker beating, beating on ragged bark; endlessly tapping, tormenting residents housed within. Awaking tiny pests, rousing insect ruffians, courier warning of their demise.
Woodpecker beating, beating his own drum; forever drilling, darting his beak in then out. Arising strength within, forging ahead with lust, finding one’s inner vigor.
“My flesh and my heart fail; But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
Red breasted robin returned today; followed by a rattling, rambunctious red-winged black bird babbling in tall rushes, tails puffed to seed.
Skies a sapphire shade speak of spring; while tree buds are tucked tightly away holding their breath, waiting to reveal their packages of cashmere blooms.
Well known is early arrival can crush and destroy a flourishing crop of fruits; so are a poet’s words scattered across an empty page waiting, waiting, waiting.
Words gathered in a nest after long, chilled winter; thoughts, inspirations and musings ready to sprout forth blooming songs from the poet’s heart.
Dawn no longer comes, it is dry as hung garments. Moon and stars vanish leaving me dim, dreary days; seeds of youthful faith linger.
“Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, Before the difficult days come, and the years draw near when you say, “I have no pleasure in them”: While the sun and the light, the moon and the stars, are not darkened, and the clouds do not return after the rain;”
Ecclesiastes 12:1-2
In Japan, the tanka is well over twelve hundred years old (haiku is about three hundred years old), and has gone through many periods of change in style and content. But it has always been a poem of feelings, often involving metaphor and other figurative language (not generally used in haiku). While tanka praising nature have been written, and seem to resemble “long haiku,” most tanka deal with human relationships or the author’s situation.
tankasocietyofamerica.org
Maple tree seeds are mature in either spring to early summer or late fall, depending on the species. Plant the seeds about three-quarters of an inch (2 cm.) deep in moist peat moss and place them in a plastic bag inside the refrigerator for 60 to 90 days
A rabbit will need a thicker coat in the winter than in the summer. Also, a rabbit’s fur may change color for its protection. This is more common in wild than domestic animals, but it applies to all rabbits. It’s a natural reaction to light exposure
During the winter, rabbits take in more wood-based food sources, such as tree bark, twigs, and conifer needles. Rabbits don’t hibernate, so they dig holes or find warm, closed-in spaces, in hollow logs, rock piles, and brush piles. But they don’t just eat plants.Dec
Food isn’t the only thing a rabbit has to be particularly concerned about during winter, however. The loss of vegetation density means predators can spot their prey much more easily. In order to survive, rabbits must find places where they can both eat and hide from predators.
Beneath the summer moon, hidden bats fill empty street. Flap their leathery wings, meet the darken shadows in twilight.
Silent flight, soar without tune as inky blackness settles land. Silhouette of massive trees stand crowded limbs gather in my sight;
Swooping in circles tightly hewn by brazen bat’s erratic moves; their signature etched grooves in hushed moonlit summer night.
Hope is not a message strewn by bat who rules the evening sky or milky moon which shines on high; it’s God who designed bat at flight!
It is He who made the summer moon, the music, melody and nature’s tune. With speech the earth was first hewn and stars across the universe strewn.
God placed bat’s wings at twilight, to gather at His will, before His sight. He reveals hidden things of night; and waits for men’s souls to take flight.
“He reveals the deep and hidden things; He knows what lies in darkness, and light dwells with Him.”
Daniel 2:22
It’s been a dark time around the world. Like the bat, COVID seemed to creep up on the souls of men. It has etched in our lives change. Some from loss and others in remembering the laughter of loved ones.
Days grow weary from our burdens longing we look for renewed strength, mind and spirit; as winds of time toss then tremble hoping, yearning for souls to freely yield, to be renewed by wings from Heaven; released, from earthly things which encumber; freedom in the things of God forever!
“Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall. But those who wait upon the LORD will renew their strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint.
Isaiah 40:30-31
I had so much fun with this poetry form earlier this week and thought I would try it again! Waltmarie poetic form was invented by Candace Kubinec.Here are the guidelines for writing the Waltmarie: • 10 lines • Even lines are two syllables in length, odd lines are longer (but no specific syllable count) • Even lines make their own mini-poem if read separately
I must be long winded, because I need 14 lines to complete a thought. So this was a twisted on this form. Remember the even lines created a hidden message on their own, if read separately.
Today it finally happened thawing across melting landscape whitish thick, trickling, tense cold snow shrinking from mounds to moaning slush under creaking snowshoes; singing!
Waves lap upon the shores like dogs thirsty after a run; they rise then fall. Tumbling days, weeks, finally years; as sands of time trickle truth.
Water is life, breaths life in moderate wandering ways. It’s foe, a piece of parched earth dangling, drained and dizzy from its unending thirst.
Weather rules day then night; rain, sleet, ice, or snow grasp gathering at will, builds walls, halts life while still smirking; for all man’s worth, he waits.
Water baptizes, transfers trader to one tested by his faithfulness now following Someone much greater, who rules the waters with a mighty, firm hand of power.
Waves of hope rise, tower above like life giving sun at early dawn; Living Water’s sacrifice brings new life where desert land springs forth new seed there, blooms in breeze.
P. Wolf; poet & author of Jemi’s Noble Quest
“Jesus answered and said to her, “Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.”
With the creaking of dead wood, the forest speaks harsh tones while wild winds BLOW; making whistling, whistling, whistling screechy whispers; shifting shadows in the trees. Then it slowly stalks its prey…
Crunch, crunch, crunch goes each solitary steady step, into drifts of freshly fallen flakes all unique, yet mound and towered high stately piles which obscure, ruin my view drifts of snow in frozen earth. Its growl invades the earth…
Stiff, so stiff the landscape of glistening white swallowed whole in blustery weather waiting, waiting for noonday sun to raise digits of zero or above; crippled fingers rest in empty birds nest. It wildly shakes its mane…
It’s in other things I find my rest, where warmth fills frigid places. There the sun streams soundly in delicate, frosty window pane; and filters across the written Word which thaws the cold,cold heart. It is He who brings about new earth!
P. Wolf, poet & author of Jemi’s Noble Quest
“ Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth passed away, and there is no longer any sea.”
As scented roses make center stage, daffodils cry out from deep under frosty layers of white wintry snow! It is the middle of February and each hour sings of love unfolds.
Chick-a-Dees crowd filled dangling feeders and are welcoming with song; my south window smudged with grandkid’s sweet sticky finger prints become a splendid blessing to the day.
Bleak is the land lingering before me, empty are the jagged limbs of trees once filled with delights of life; where lush emerald leaves fluttered with filled nests of speckled blue eggs.
Now, the very last meal of the day makes haste as the early sun sets against a dull, dreary wintry sky; yet grandkids dressed in polar suits climb atop high mounds of icy snow.
Stay the night my dear little loves, for spring is near and arms ache to carried bouquets of fresh daffodils; waiting for children’s cheery laughter to float on mild breezes; to trees dressed
in all of spring’s lush glory! For now I’ll warm chubby hands, stir their hot creamy chocolate, chat about their wonderful winter play of forts and caves built atop the daffodils.
Not arrows from Cupid’s heart, but something a great deal more are my tender off-spring. Benefits from the winter season of my life; their visits a scent of lingering joy!