Journaling Wisconsin’s Spring: The Woodpecker

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.

Psalm 73:26

A Thing Called a Poem

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.

Talking about poetry today…https://earthweal.com/
P. Wolf, poet & author

Aging

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

hardening know how.com

Listening

We just muddle through
since some roads have no escape;
to which two eyes learn.

Hidden deep within the underbrush 
two ears and one tail steadily stares
studying its options for quick escape.

Buried deep down within the heart,
too tall a tale privately told for
learning of lessons with laughter.

Concealed deep, an earthly secret
to which we’re drawn listening and
mastering from our puzzling past.

Hidden deep within the underbrush
two ears and one tail steadily stares
studying its options for quick escape.

“ I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, But now my eye sees You.”

Job 42:5

Scribbling my thoughts to “history has its eyes on you” over at https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/03/weekly-scribblings-59-wait-for-it.html

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

http://www.Rabbitscaretips.com

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

http://www.rabbitcaretips.com

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.

http://www.griffinpress.com
P. Wolf, poet & author of “I am the Light” series

Beneath the Moon

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.

A year later we continue to remember… https://earthweal.com/2021/03/01/earthweal-weekly-challenge-the-unsayable/

P. Wolf, Poet & Author of Jemi’s Noble Quest

Burdens

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.

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

A Thaw

Sunset on a warm winter day

Today it finally happened
thawing
across melting landscape
whitish
thick, trickling, tense
cold snow
shrinking from mounds to
moaning
slush under creaking snowshoes;
singing!

“He sends out His command to the earth;

His word runs very swiftly.

He gives snow like wool;

He scatters the frost like ashes;

He casts out His hail like morsels;

Who can stand before His cold?

He sends out His word and melts them;

He causes His wind to blow, and the waters flow.”

Psalm 147:15-18
A little poem posted at: https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/02/weekly-scribblings-58-two-into-one-will.html

Reasoning Water

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.”

John 4:13-14
Writing on water for: https://earthweal.com/2021/02/22/natural-forces/

Chilled Earth

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.”

Revelations 21:1
Poetry response to earthweal weekly challenge: Already Dead

Give Me Daffodils

Photo by David Jakab on Pexels.com

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!

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

“Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,

The fruit of the womb is a reward.

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,

So are the children of one’s youth.”

Psalms 127:3-4