Mother Nature is swaying in the breeze, her branches strong.

Her life full and alive she sings with flowers and dances with the bees,
But her mind is boorish to the oncoming threat of November.

The startling entrance of Fall is like fire to her leaves,
New electricity attacks her arm’s protectors; prepared with strong green shields.
Yellow, orange, then deep red bleed into a burnt, crackled brown and black ash.

As her melodic hum of green vanishes, a starling yellow spark leaps,
Ablazed chaos now runs on her twisted, knotted, and wise branch-arms.
Eruptions of heat and confusion Mother Nature is seen screaming,
Raptured coldly, her green peace is painfully and hollowly attacked.

Her first shiver yesterday revealed her weakness,
Her shade flees, no longer able to stand the icy-sharp stabbings of winter.
Her annual sigh of defeat inevitably followed, thus beginning her hibernation,
Her tired arms creak and break, letting down their burnt sheaths,
Slowly spiraling down, down, down to the hungry ground.

Closing down to mourn Mother Nature is unclothed and shamed.
Her once green body now dried, bare, and cracked.
Withering winter brings blue death and ice to her brown skin.
Naked she shivers and freezes for three months to come.
But Spring will bring her a new strength and humility.
Mother Nature’s momentary fall will only chill, not ****.

Desire, depth of which plucks into my utmost guarded string,
Wholly definition of self I hear in the reverbial melody it booms.
Louder than my name, this cantor I find that I find in all that I sing,
Yet so guarded I hold it, woven deepest into my darkest solitary room.

Knowledge of its name eludes even myself, its captor and creator,
A fear of its power cripples my hands from playing this chord.
Yet, I hear it’s echo afloat in music and mountains, this power greater,
I feel the harmony in union with these and those who too remain unexplored.

Held onto so surely, so rigid and taunt, I slip,
With her, the melody rings loud yet without any sting.
It sings in my laughter, it tastes on her lips,
This defining secret note weaves us together and we sing.

This harmony is not pure, or true, nor real
This chord is alone and searching out her who too sings this tune.
One day when I find you and my chord’s song you steal,
I will join you in concordance, our song at last not concealed.

Boiling fury, unattainable power, white eruptions,
Pushing then it pulls, striking then it steals.
The silence of the oceans anger, power with no corruption,
A strength and passion causing all within to kneel.

I stand at the crash point at night and feel its aching,
Whispers the sand silently speak, shifting it's patterns on my feet.
The silence on the surface tiptoes across the breaking,
God's metaphor for power, silence and where they meet.

I leave the water, my feet again meeting harsh road,
The warmth of the day almost gone.
the last heat remains yet its release is slowed,
the moons heart is heard and will be felt again at dawn.

The power of the sun found in the power of the moon,
the power of the waves, oh Lord, speak enough to me.
How one thing's power seems gone but returns so soon,
you transpose yourself, and through the ocean I see.

Tension crunches across my skin as the moment becomes truth,

every corner a hostile new sharp ***** of apprehension.

Drawing closer the brittle tension smolders and melts into a liquid fear.


My body is fluid, lucid to the untrained eye, I leave no proof,

bubbles drift up and pop, twitches and nervous laughter for the oncoming collision.

Calming the surface again, with smiles and cool phrases, I feel it draw near.


Eruptions as the boiling point itself melts, the moment is now,

but, as the unknown becomes known the water dissipates.

Why the fear? Why the surprise? Why the rigidity every time?


To the unknown, to change we all unwillingly bow,

No training or smiles can mask the fear in which we participate.

Yet, that feeling of total discontrol is human emotion in its prime.


What you cling to in these moments reveals you as you,

your faith, your valued chosen, how you believe the world will turn,

the unknown moments are the testing pots in which we are truly identified.

The first few steps into the shade and out of the sun,
sensation of escape from one reality into a more true, somehow more noble throne,
away from the traffic of the so called real world, let it all come undone.

My ears are kissed by song of summer cicadas and crickets happy jigs,
the noise of ripples on the pond and the arresting feeling of the unknown,
the perfect combination of adventure and control, the deeper the depth, here, my soul can dig.

The swirling leaves and blossoming buds hum a symphony,
these noises combined create a song older than time stronger than bone,
without careful silence and respectable awe all of this would be unknown to me.