Totem

sweet crispness of fallen leaves

beneath the steps slowly taken

the camera bobs gently against my breast

I peer through binoculars beyond trees,

ponds, over and up hills into clouds

waiting for a glimpse of wildlife

a deer, a bobcat, a wild hog, perhaps,

nature in its rarest and finest form

a totem with guidance to give, medicine to share,

as luck would have it, an eagle flies above,

the grand master of the spirit world some say

yet all, in their own way, are tied to the land,

as am I, walking the path, step by step,

watching, waiting for my turn

Pastoral

the breeze ripples over the top

of long sheaves of cut grasses

a border collie pants as he guards his post

among the black-faced sheep, grazing,

honeybees and bumblebees buzzing atop sweet clover

that smells like the  finest perfume from Paris

the last of a long day of summer weather

caught in a picture frame for posterity

when honeybees may become a thing of the past

and the familiar buzz of the fields

becomes replaced by nanobots that self-fertilize

our flowers, our food, our futures

Hiding

bushes surround me with their thickness

it is the warm, familiarity of everyday life

no need to put the toes in the water

no need to stretch the arms out to the path

the stepping stones are gone from view

just walking in place so no one knows

there is a difference in my melancholy days

hopeful for the big win that might change tomorrow

new surroundings where a brief walk, a photo,

might encourage a smile where no one sees

for now I am camouflaged in the bushes

the path is a stranger where everyone is cold

and I look for the clouds to part, to bring sunshine

but for now, amongst the branches, I am hiding

Directions

taking directions is so challenging

when you don’t know where you want to go

the sky’s the limit, the ocean depths

are just some of the places you might know

and when your mind no longer is confused

a little pollen spray can start you on your way

as you breathe in the fresh air of springtime

and travel with the bumble bees and butterflies

sleeping with the tree frogs as they croak the night away

your imagination racing wildly watching colorful macaws

as you traverse the rain forest, its crocodiles and pythons

your heart beating faster as you twirl around the world

where you fly high upon Mount Everest nearly frozen in your place

and to top it off you greet the stars far in outer space

then you come back down to earth, land in your cozy bed

where you snore until the morning waking up instead

The Hunt

it begins with the imposing question, “Where?”

and a moment of thought to suppose an answer

but once you realize that you don’t know

you can but close your eyes, retrace your steps

and guess where last you saw your treasure

not always is the treasure large, so small it may be

as to fit in the palm of your trembling hand

where it is so plain to see that you imagine

how it feels to hold it, to touch it,

what scent it gives off, if any, a sparkle,

but your treasure may also be someone

whom you may or not have met...yet
and then you hold the treasure in your  heart

waiting patiently for the perfect person to come

across your path, to look just so, speak just so,

and then, together you wrap each other in your dreams

Softer

where does my true love’s path cross mine?

I see him clearly in my dreams

though gentle words encourage him

I cannot see the time, the place

and were it not my steps are stilted

my eyes filled with haze

my words eloquently chosen

I suppose it would not pain me so

to wait upon the good Lord’s timing

such a day when we shall meet

my true love, tender of heart

and we shall sip fine wine or tea

and make the world much softers

Tales

fairy tales, the stories of old,

with characters well-founded,

we ask the questions of good and right

we know the answers by the villain’s defeat

and yet so rounded the hero’s verse

we gravitate to the pure, the beautiful,

unknown background, the mild retreat,

carried away on a white horse, for sure

the ladies, the lords, the kings and queens

fighting for the right to lead, fealty,

what we discern is the blessing of youth

that good wins out over evil and woe

so carry the basket to Grandma’s house,

jump high at the grapes hanging on the vine,

rescue the damsel who cries from the tower

and eat not the apple from the woman

whose speech is so smooth she could be a snake

Owls

the owls nest in mountains high

the treetops make their perfect view

to see the coming lofty horizon

day or night, their vision is keen

as they take flight on sturdy wings

to survey their legions far beneath

they take clear providence of the sky

the rapture of raptors in silent flight

surprising their prey from great heights

gallant in posing once fed, restored,

he awaits the familiar passerby

who looks on in curiosity to inquire of wisdom

and yet, the owl merely turns his head

ignoring the ignorant, his wing o’er his eyes

and goes to sleep for the day to pass

renewing his hunt when the rodents roam

somewhere through his dark dominion