Nature poetry

Spring

Wendy W. Blumberg

My dear

Spring is come

The sycamore    the Crepe Myrtle

Both birthing their new leaves

Roses in their garden

Bloom again

Recovered from their pruning

 

I miss mating of the

Mockingbirds

Scolding squawks claiming

Territories

Music of their calls

Resounding down the canyon walls

Around us

They have disappeared from my

Life

 

My dear

Do you remember spring

In Illinois

The ancient lilac bush

We transplanted

From the farm

Across from us on McCree

Road

Its house torn down

Making way

For a crop of new houses

Remember

We let the hose drip water

Two whole days     two whole nights

Around her roots

Praying she’d survive

She did     bloomed so faithfully

Sending the delicious scent

Of her blooms

Into our bedroom window

 

Oh     I welcome spring

In California

But mourn the ancient

Lilac bush

No flowered fragrance

Will ever fill her place

 

 

 

Fishing

Wendy W. Blumberg

He runs down the sand dune

Slipping sliding down

Flings his fishing line over his head

A school of dolphin near the shore

Dive in and out of the water

I can’t believe it

Father wants to catch

One

 

He runs down the beach

Races with the dolphins

They play with him

Tease him

Never losing pace

His feet

Pound the shoreline

Keeping up

Until

Far down the beach

He loses breath

Falls back

And they swim

Away

 

—1981

(under)Painting by Brian McQueen

Night Owl

Wendy W. Blumberg

From early childhood

I am drawn to the night

A night owl

Drawn to the light from windows

Of houses

With no knowledge of who

Lives inside

Still     I imagine them

Surrounded with love

Feeling secure

Behind the warm glow

Of their lighted windows

That draw my attention

Like a moth to lamp light

 

I love the moon

I love each phase of her journey

Against a dark sky

Brightest when no clouds

Share the atmosphere

But when clouds

Do cover her face

Move around her    frame her

Light

All are moon magic for me

All are gifts of the night

 

And as day folds into the

Coming night

Never do I fear the dark

It is a blanket I wrap

Around myself

Freedom to be totally who

I am

Who I’ve always been

Who I will always be

-September 2017

Voices II

Wendy W. Blumberg

Many Voices

Many octaves     many chords

Many songs

Float in and through

My awareness

The ocean’s voice sings a different song

As each tide comes into shore

Rolling out to sea again     a different verse

A different melody

 

Wind hums softly     gently

Wind shouts     wind howls

Demands my recognition

I search the sky for reasonings

 

Crows have gatherings

Fly in circles     land on a distant pine

Take off again     circle the pine

Voices raucous     harsh

Their dialogue     their language

Fills the air around me

 

Crickets sing in summer

As the sun goes down behind a

Sandstone cliff

Their rhythm in unison

Voices on key

They soothe my mind

Calm the beat of my heart

Welcome the night     soon to arrive

 

And your voice     my own Love

For me the voice of

All That Is

My guide     my protection

My Life

I hear your voice

I listen to its timbre

Am at peace

–January 2018

Life as a River

Wendy W. Blumberg

I think of Life as a river

That begins from its source

Somewhere unknown to me

Flowing around me     flowing over

Any obstacle that lies in its

Path

A large boulder     fallen timber

Always moving to follow its

Course

With twists     with turns

Changing     as landscape it flows past

Changes

To widen     to narrow

Continuing the journey

Until it joins another river

Or flows on its own

To the sea

 

 

From My Window …

Wendy W. Blumberg

… I see     I feel

Morning sun

Touching the life of the

Sycamore’s new leaves

A hyacinth not yet in

Bloom

From my window

I see other windows

On a hill across

The Riparian Way

Like tiny lighthouses

They shine beacons of light

To me

As night closes day

 

From my window

I hear sirens on El Camino Real

Their sound grows fainter

As they move farther away

Then one abruptly stops

Called here

To the community

Where I live

 

From my window

I send a prayer

  

Too often

Someone I know

Someone I don’t know

Passes away

Death is no stranger here

But life is far more familiar

I feel the void

When faces go missing

I never get used to it

Life lives with death

Two parts of the whole

 

Every fall

From my window

I watch the sycamore’s leaves

Dry out

Their color green changing into

Old gold

Falling to the ground

In graceful slow motion

Then welcoming her new leaves

Every spring

 

The sun rises

Over the distant hill

Goes down over the distant

Ocean

Moon rises

Over the distant hill

Sets in her own time

Over the distant ocean

It is an orderly Universe

I closely observe

Closely observe

 

From my window

Voices

Wendy W. Blumberg

mdove7

Mourning dove     I hear you calling

You call     you call     call again

But no utterance of sound     of words

From me in answer to you

Could fill the silence of your solitude

 

An unseen woodpecker

Sends a rapid staccato

Of tap tap tapping

From some nearby tree

My ears try to direct

My eyes

To discover its location

I listen     look listen look

Finally give up my anticipation

That ends in disappointment

Pure frustration

 

My children’s childhood

Rebounds in remembering

Snippets of scenes

Tho the sound of their childhood

Voices

Have faded

Like shadows from a forgotten

Dream

 

I imagine myriad

Sounds    voices

That enter the portal of my

Consciousness

Year unto year

Some leave     many remain

Becoming part of me

Of who I am

But if I have a choice

I will carry into forever

The sound I love most

Your voice     your voice

 

*photo credit

The Sycamore Tree

Wendy W. Blumberg

Cristo_Redentor_Rio_de_Janeiro_4

The Sycamore tree

My friend

Lives through season

After season

In my backyard

Her leaves drop slowly

This fall into winter season

And I feel her strength

Withstanding drought

But now leaves that

Remain

Are scarce     dry     yellowed

As they wait to drop

To the ground

I look up into the sculpture

Of her near naked branches

Branches stretched outward

Like arms

A vision for me

Of the Cristo Redentor

On the mountain top

In Rio

Of my beloved’s embrace

His wide open arms

My sanctuary

My refuge     my vision of love

Loving

Sycamore’s gift to

Me

th-1
photo credit 1
photo credit 2

Super Blood Moon

Wendy W. Blumberg
IMG_0745

*

A faint glow of red

Barely visible

Through the top of the

Balsam pine

Tells me my eyes have found

The Super Blood Moon

Wait    wait now

For it to rise

Over the treetop

Into the naked sky

Watch the soft covering

Of her face

Slowly evaporate

As the sun

Far from my portion

Of earth

Moves on releasing her light

As the moon clothes herself

In brilliant white

 

This is a Super Blood Moon

A gift from Spirit

Her eclipse bringing a message

Of renewal     of transformation

First a covering     then a

Release

A familiar journey

From what has lain

So long

Deep inside me

Slowly to be let go

Now standing on an ordinary

Cement sidewalk

I am one with her

On this night of magic

Of mystery

As she draws me up

Draws me into the brilliant radiance

Of her glorious light     holy light

Light from nowhere on earth

 

Oh what message     what message

From All That Is

Comes with this Super Blood Moon

Only one’s soul     only a soul

Can answer

*photo credit: Stella Blumberg

Dry Spell

Wendy W. Blumberg
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written spring 2015

I have lost the magic

In my words

As I’ve lost the moon

The stars are gone

From my portion of sky

I grieve them all

 

You and I once watched

The sun as it sank

Behind the Jemez Mountains

In New Mexico

Leaving a glorious fire

Of orange     of gold

Of deep crimson

That reached into clouds

High above     it’s descent

 

Where is Orion now

Where are the dippers

I search the indigo

Of early evening

Before windows in homes

Across El Camino Real

Reflect lamplight from inside them

So many streetlights

So many lit windows

My portion of sky

Is no longer mine

My words feel as tho

They’ve escaped into a

Starless sky

In a starless night



*photo credit