From a Mysterious Heart

Admire my tail:

squirrel, peacock, alligator, or skink.

 

My traveling stronghold:

armadillo, porcupine, turtle, or snail.

 

My nose, if you will:

anteater or elephant.

 

My coat or my feathers,

my scales or my claws

safekeeping some center.

 

All the color of mating songs and dances

in their ritual orbs and ranging.

~*~

From an opening

a flickering tongue

chirping and bleating

a cloud of cold breath

a scat

an egg or egg sack

or a baby appears.

 

Into a hole,

the hole in the water,

the hole in the sky,

in the ground,

in each other.

 

All going,

ongoing,

go grinning.

Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson.
For more, click here.

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Particular Balance

To community,

at last, I extend my regard:

 

a swarm of bees,

a school of fish,

a flock of cormorants,

a herd of deer,

a pod of whales,

a nest of ants,

a pride of lions.

 

The rabbit, licking my brow.

 

All of this world, I’ve roved

and come home

in a new place.

 

Still, it’s the loners I nod toward:

porcupine,

skunk,

owl,

moose,

eagle.

 

A walrus or seal

lolling in the surf.

~*~

It’s an honor to remember

when to keep a respectful

and safe distance.

 

And when to draw near.

Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson.
For more, click here.

Basic Drama

– for Steve Abbott

Two wingspans, as though cleaved

on a strip of exposed bedrock:

russet bands, a kestrel, perhaps.

 

No flesh, no bone, a few tufts nearby.

 

A clean attack, turned awry?

Prey turned into prey?

A weasel emerges as a prime suspect.

 

All the same, everyone’s

gotta eat, sometime.

5:X:2005
Mount Agamenticus, Maine

Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson.
For more, click here.

Pawtuckaway Solstice

– for Jesse Metzler

Woodchuck bristled

hopping to safety

beneath a bright-

red pickup

at the trailhead

while woodpecker

beat time for the wind.

 

A great blue heron at shoreline

surveyed granite boulders.

 

Toads, tortoise,

garter snake,

and a beaver lodge

gleamed within evergreen

and beech detritus.

 

In the pause of mutual regard.

 

21.VI.88

Flowing and howling. A cackle. A bray.

 

Crawling, oh belly to the earth or branch,

the slow-paced reply to hunger.

 

Fiddling, the friction of smoldering night

that summons sunrise.

The movement of limbs,

even snaking around a tree or

snail, scrolling back into its kernel.

 

Or flirting. The dance in its many degrees of shading.

 

Running – a trot, a stride, a gallop, a lope.

Verily, a mouse scurries

– the race of prey –

 

Mole, worm, cockroach, cave bat, crocodile,

a beetle from some underworld

and back.

 

Winging, clear veining or bright feathers

– even mottled dun –

darting, skimming,

fluttering – sometimes flustered,

sometimes fully free.

 

Hardly a weather vane.

Ram, cock, eagle, cod –

 

Swimming.

 

Who will be first?

With or without a jockey.

 

 

Bounding / Rolling / Worming / Snaking / Floating

Falling

 

All in this kingdom of motion.

Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson.
For more, click here.

Have We Lost Our Touch With Nature? — Highland Imp

With the rise in technology and the growing trend of social media popularity, people are going outdoors less and less. A life enhanced by tech and science is pushed as the ideal – for example, in sci-fi films where everything is connected to the net (Ghost in the Shell springs to mind) and the existence […]

via Have We Lost Our Touch With Nature? — Highland Imp