Summer’s Night Song

Sultry summer sun has set,
ablaze is the sky stretched 
across a parched horizon.

Searing, becomes midsummer’s
dreaded dreams drenched in
restless, dizzy sweat and tears.

Slowly, breathe in and out for 
the rain dances upon your roof
and steam rises, as relief arrives.

Sweltering is the summer night.
Yet, friendly fireflies light the way
toward darken paths not traveled.

Sluggish visions become clearer,
focused once again, as rain washes
unwanted confusion to bring clarity.

And afterward, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.

Joel 2:28
P. Wolf linking with

The Art of Seasons

Woven one-by-one,
Spring nest ready for new birth;
rests on cracks of life.

Come, mid-summer flight,
a journey of full, frail life;
wings like stained glass.

Drama in the skies,
clouds layered, heaped, piled;
in Autumn twilight.

Bittersweet winter,
laced flakes of icy snow;
no two are alike.

To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven:

Ecclesiastes 3:1
P. Wolf linking to:

The Sanctuary

The towers in my cathedral stand tall,
steady, stately as they sway; unaware of any turmoil which clenches, clutches and chokes.

Tall, trim trees adorn with ornaments grand.
Rubies of cardinals, aquamarine jays, amber breasted robins are only a few precious gems.

Gaze upward, for solitude reaches higher than thirty or forty foot pines gathered in open heavens. As one climbs higher, changes take

my solitude to higher valued traits of : love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control waiting for all.

Wind blows about hatred, sadness, war, anxiety, cruelty, evil, harshness, and anxiousness as a treacherous tossed salad unwilling served.

Where does one truly find a sanctuary?
In the world of Creation, and within the heart of a man who is willing to glorified God.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience , kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law. And those who are Christ’s have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.”

Galatians 5:22-25
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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. 😉


The call is long and lonesome, as he circles in rounds of rigorous flight. I squint to see his form drift on mild currents; a shadow searching for prey, predictor or partner?

Power emerges from his pristine wings, talons sharp and curved to cuddle prey, aquiline nose -hooked beak- for tearing flesh or perhaps, tenderly feeding young, needy chicks?

Robust red-tailed hawk, you’re fond to the falconer. Easily trained at youth, more common of the species and capable to be coached a hunter; you prefer the open skies.

Defend your territory, screech in full flight and announce to the invader they need go elsewhere. A mouse for a meal or a mate perched atop the trees is not to be taken.

Dwelling is no easy thing, as trust rings loud and clear. Our Defender is not the gracious hawk soaring on air currents, but He who made bird, wind and the man who sees.

“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.”

Psalm 91:1-2

His Call

He calls and repeats his call,
it travels on the tepid breeze,
encircles the weary woodland,
rises up to crafty cumulus clouds,
trails passed each blade of grass
and falls into empty, murky marsh.

He waits and waits even longer,
his tune falls to silent, vacant realms
knowing her image trails in his mind,
lifts his head and rises high to listening,
he puffs his wings, encircles the land,
will travel far to find what he has lost.

As for the song bird,
he lovingly lingers long;
seeks what he has lost.

“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”

Romans 8:28
P. Wolf; poet & author

May Day

Perhaps, “mayday” was a warning cry for warmth after a long bitter winter years ago?
Maybe only the spring peepers really know how to cheer on an early May’s jubilant song?
Were the migration of birds dismayed as snow steadily seeped in frozen ground?

On the brighter note…

Mayflowers nodded their sleepy heads on bare branched forest floor, a sprig of hope.
Maypoles decorated in rich colored ribbon held by young children skipping in the wind
and mayflies, nymphs, gorge on fresh algae only to enjoy a few short days of spring.

May Day is more than
sun shining brighter, longer
it is a fresh start!

Immature mayflies, also known as nymphs, feed on microscopic algae and organic matter in the water. Adults don’t have functioning mouthparts, and therefore do not eat? However, this isn’t an issue since mayflies only live as mature adults for a few days.

In Hawaii, May Day is also known as Lei Day, and it is normally set aside as a day to celebrate island culture in general and the culture of the native Hawaiians in particular. Invented by poet and local newspaper columnist and was celebrated on 1 May 1927 in Honolulu.

The maypole dance is a spring ritual long known to Western Europeans. Usually performed on May 1 (May Day), the folk custom is done around a pole garnished with flowers and ribbon to symbolize a tree. Practiced for generations in countries such as Germany and England, the maypole tradition dates back to the dances ancient people used to do around actual trees in hopes of harvesting a large crop.

“For lo, the winter is past,

The rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth;

The time of singing has come,

And the voice of the turtledove

Is heard in our land.

Song of Solomon 2:11-12
P. Wolf linking to

The Earth

In the beginning darkness spread its veil,
before the setting of the first golden sunset,
earlier than man stepping on the earth;
at first ALL was righteous, good, upright.
Originally, it was God who made a perfect, pleasant place for all to live in harmony!

In the end, it becomes the creation’s honor,
as time trickles to an expectant climax, 
to finish the race with full responsibility,
respect and in the resolution of all time
tending to things with a positive closure.
One day soon, there will be a new Earth!

“The earth is the Lord’s, and all its fullness, The world and those who dwell therein. For He has founded it upon the seas, And established it upon the waters.”

Psalm 24:1-2

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.”

Revelation 21:1
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A Vine

What is a branch without a leaf,
a lovely, lush, living gem of green?
Where does the vine first connect
beneath the dark, deep, dim earth?
When does the branch give birth
to tender bud, to juicy fruit, to life?
Why does the branch bare badly;
it has dried and is no longer rooted.

Without sturdy roots,
a branch becomes just tinder;
embers in the fire.

P. Wolf; poet & author

“I am the vine, you are the branches; the one who remains in Me, and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” John 15:5

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Breaking Stillness

Still there’s a slice of ice
encasing the marsh as glass;
stiff, sharp becomes a screen
protecting you from prey.
Visions of rich, dense duck weed
and brown, earthy tuffs of
marsh grass huddle
waiting for cloudless sky.
But morning chill tells
another story of early spring.

Buried deep you rest. With scent
of spring playing games of
hide and seek; you find no
aroma of wild rose only unscented
seeds from brown, barefaced
bundled of reeds and cat-tails
spinning, dancing atop silvery
layer of ice; your roof-top sky light.
Your throaty call echoes beneath;
stiff in the icy entrapment.

Yet, this is your woodland nest
here life and death linger in stiff pools
of decaying waters rich with microscopic
bacteria; so minuscule even your bulgy
protruding eyes unable to find them.
Your passion overriding all, your
mission drives you forward as your
need to seek a mate becomes all;
this is why you were created and it
consumes your very existence.

A warning, when the ice melts
cranes and geese are waiting
to have you as a tasty meal.
Sing quickly, call out rhythmic
chips, chatter and chants;
for somewhere she waits past
all still danger to dance awhile as
it has been written in the book
of “Spring Peepers Logs of Love”;
for now the image in ice is only you!

“These all wait for You, That You may give them their food in due season. What You give them they gather in; You open Your hand, they are filled with good. You hide Your face, they are troubled; You take away their breath, they die and return to their dust. You send forth Your Spirit, they are created; And You renew the face of the earth.”

Psalm 104: 27-30
Photo credit to images online

northern cricket frog is a species of small hylid frog native to the United States and northeastern Mexico. Despite being members of the tree frog family, they are not arboreal. It has two recognized subspecies.


Northern cricket frogs sometimes occur in cattail ( Typha sp.) thickets as well as in other terrestrial and/or aquatic shoreline vegetational assemblages .

Other treefrogs in the northern cricket frog’s range are the spring peeper, the western chorus frog and the gray treefrog. The spring peeper has a dark X-shaped blotch on the back. The western chorus frog has three dark continuous or broken lines down the back. The gray treefrog has a light spot with a dark border under each eye and bright orange or yellow inner thighs. The cricket frog appears to have “warts” like a toad but lacks the large parotoid glands that toads have behind each eye. The clicking call of the northern cricket frog may be difficult to distinguish from that of some marsh birds.
For decades I’ve looked forward to late March and spring again here in Wisconsin. First, the red winged black birds arrive with cranes and geese. Then the air is filled with a chorus of spring peepers. Their voice is a melody of a thousand vocal musicians filling the halls of my woodland. Come late April there is no pond side sitting. Their song so intense, one needs to close all windows. Yet, those early sounds bring joy to my heart. P. Wolf; poet & author
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