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A PRAYER FOR ME

 

 

 

A casualty of war.

A casualty of nature.

Sad.

Alone.

Drifting.

Broken.

Silenced forever.

Say a prayer for me.

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Poetry by D. L. Finn

DARKNESS

The air is thick as you breathe it in

Filling your lungs with its silence.

It unnerves you when you’re alone

Because in the darkness there are shadows.

They are filled with the unknown

While the quiet is lurking with danger.

It’s unseen, watching while your heart is racing

And your skin drenched in sweat, you scan the night.

You see nothing and hear nothing

Yet, you know it’s there.

You hurry back into the light where it’s safe

Shut the door and lock it with a sigh of relief.

You quickly forget the darkness

But, what you don’t know is…

It hasn’t forgotten you.

 

TO FLY (Musings from the Back of a Harley)

We fly by the ranches…

Cows, goats, and horses.

Grazing golden-grass untroubled…

As we rumble loudly past them.

The ponds are rain depleted…

Fall harvest signs invite us to stop.

 

But, today is a day to fly…

To fly past normalcy

To fly past worries

To fly past obligations.

 

They rush by us like the scenery…

Soaring past our leather-clad bodies.

They crash behind us like a boat’s wake…

Miraculously missing us in our frantic flight.

Yet, all is forgiven flying on our motorcycle…

As our souls chaperon our journey.

 

THE RIVER’S GIFTS

It’s smooth and gentle on a warm spring day…

The rocks and trees are mirrored in its purity.

The beach’s sandy-warmth caresses me…

As I skim a flat rock across the water’s surface.

Eight small splashes are my reward…

Expanding into rings that disappear into flow.

Fish swim with the current beneath…

Hawks soar above searching for their next meal.

I deeply breathe in the serenity shared by the river.

 

A delicate butterfly swoops down and rests in front of me…

I want to touch it, be a part of its splendor, as I watch it fly away.

It finds nectar on a purple flower at the water’s edge…

I inhale bliss as the butterfly’s hunger is satisfied.

Searching up river I find water cascading down a rocky ledge.

I pause to drink in the magnificence and wisdom…

The river can negotiate any obstacle and continue its journey.

Here next to the flowing wonder, I find peace, and beauty…

I absorb this into my being, with gratitude, for the river’s gifts.

 

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MY SECRET

 

Pier

 

 

MY SECRET

Sprinkle my path with pretty leaves & flowers.

I want to look at water & not towers.

Colors to brighten my day.

A place where birds come to play.

I will walk to the end of the pier.

I’ll gaze into the depths without fear.

I will see fish swimming by.

Not monsters lurking nearby.

Time will pass slowly and must be savored.

Whoever comes this way will be favored.

I think it’s only prudent and fair

To share my secret with those who care.

THE FALLEN

Sherbrooke Forest | By Penny Whetton

 

 THE FALLEN

 

Tree branches bend,

scarred by age.

Beaten by the storm,

many hit the ground

amid piles of leaves.

Without a proper burial,

no one mourns their loss.

The fallen won’t be forgotten

as replacements take root

in the shade of the tall trees.

Sunshine filters through the forest,

lighting the way for the future.

BUDS OF HOPE

 

 

BUDS OF HOPE

In midst of despair and sorrow
rise buds of hope for the morrow.
Still standing upright and strong
against all that can go wrong.

These are extreme times of confusion and change,
media expanding over a broader range. 
We are attacked by sounds in each direction,
leaving no time for thinking and reflection.

These flowers know what’s real,
they go by what they feel.
Away from the hustle and bustle,
they grow wild without any tussle.

A day to clear my cluttered mind is all I need,
to recharge my battery is what I should heed.
I’ll recharge in a quiet place like this,
a zest for life is what I dearly miss.

DISTANT MEMORIES

 

 

Why are we removed from nature?

The moon retreats.

The stars keep their distance.

Trees and grass hide from sight.

The ice caps recede daily.

Soon they will only be memories

Of better times lived in the past.

What will remain?

The destruction we have wrought.