Tag: Nature poetry

The Commute. {Poetry}

swimrainroad

Smudged ink

as wisdom curves into words

as sounds of a violin
play through the radio waves

dissolving
with the drizzling drops of rain
on the roof,

you glance through the fine layers of glass
to see a thousand black dots flying eastward,

crows moving like the commuters
on the Interstate —
all as one, but each
one
as one
within

a microcosm of silence

as each flap of a wing,
every rotation of a tire,
every quick thought that rolls through your mind
like lightning — a streak of genius — sudden,

and then gone,

as darkness
settles once more
over the wet farmlands
and the deep taproots of oak seedlings
are finally soaked
with rain,

much like my fingers stained
by this smudge
of

black ink.

Copyright 2017  ©   Jessie Zanita Wright

Photo Credit: Comfreak/Pixabay

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Summertime in the City. {Poetry}

image

She ran to the edge of the city,
stopped, &

turned back,

wandering along the sidewalks,
under the tapestries of loving
and living

where people,
flesh and blood
moved
with feet,
not in shiny boxes turned by wheels,

where smiles
shared were returned
easily
along with the change
from buying a local bunch of beets,

where laughter
echoed along
the creek,
flowing through the city’s center,

where children played in the fountain,
splashing purple polka dots
of water
on their mother’s blue dress,

where old men sat
reading a paper,
sipping a coffee,
talking politics,
and maybe even about the way
their old lovers
kissed them good-bye,

where she leaned back
on the cobblestones,
barefeet,
at the edge of the creek,
head back,
eyes closed,
sunlight darting through,
shape shifting the dots into bright images
of the light of stars,
of the universe,
of the beauty of loving
and living
in this city.

Copyright 2016 © Jesi Zanita

Songbirds. {Poetry}

Do the songbirds in their yellow suits
dancing across the Magnolia’s limbs
ever feel a panic come over them?

Sweaty claws
let go of the bark,
darting away,
hearts beating uncontrollably,
and yet there’s hesitation
on looking back at what they left;

or

do the songbirds
in their yellow suits
sing away
their fears,
note-by-note
panic falling in the wild rye,
as their melody floats
across the morning sky?

           I am not separate from nature, but, sadly, there have been times when I lived divided from the beauty of the wild spaces, and yet I always return to them.

         In nature, the I becomes a disappearing act into the wild. I forget about me. I lose track off my problems, and take delight in the beautiful simplicity of such a multifaceted world.

      Nature isn’t far away from any of us, and yet so many of us forget to find solace there. She’s a dandelion growing in between the cracks of the concrete. A hawk flying over the city park. The lavenders and pinks on the clouds at sunrise.

      Nature is always there, but many of us have chosen not to interact with the beautiful simplicity.

       In fact, a term—Nature-deficit Disorder (NDD)—was coined for this disconnect between nature and humans. It isn’t a medical term, but more of a way in calling attention to how people’s disengagement from experiencing nature may be detrimental for their well-being.

“Nature-deficit disorder describes the human costs of alienation from nature, among them:  diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties, and higher rates of physical and emotional illnesses,” wrote Richard Louv in his book, The Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-deficit Disorder.

       I agree with Louv’s perspective as I am reenergized after spending even 10 minutes in Nature.

       In recognizing my connection to the songbirds, the worms, and even the vultures, I can see that my problems are just problems: they’re a story.

     Like the songbirds that I wrote about in the above poem, I can either stay trapped by panic about a particular story or I can sing a song: live my moments with a lilting tune instead of being fearful.

     To do so, I’ll only need to do two things: zip up my boats & put on my little yellow rain jacket for a slow long walk in Nature.

Copyright 2016 © Jessie Wright