A deer hears spring song—
Velvet antlers draped in moss.

Lake water drinks the rain,
Drizzling to dew.

She looks to the lilypads.

Home upon the rippled mirror.

Tadpoles rush their lives.

A happy lushness of fungi
Eats away at death.

Nests are packed with
Cattail cotton.

There's more work to be done.

Discredit not the busy honey bee,
or the hedgehog that makes the grasses stir
The old owl that makes it's nest in the fir
Admire the deer pacing the woods with glee!
No bard does justice to the roaring sea,
no sculptor the grace of a wild flower
Or the nurturing of a rain shower,
or majesty of an ancient oak tree

The beauty of Nature, a peaceful sight
Like swans taking flight in the rose sunset
Deep deserts where small foxes show no fear
of man, and to feel a thunderstorm's might
All these wondrous things and more can be met
on this miracle, blue-green biosphere

festering like the fungus on rotting fruit
moulded to the shadow



torn from it
motion making it's stop
the flatline
an event horizon
        and   i  
  looked


blank became the canvas
as existence shrunk from view
and i saw it all;
and it was glorious

but the curtains were closing
momentary was the sight bestowed
which fleeted faster than life
from this withering device of animation

elapsing back to nothing
a fade to black

There is freedom in the clearing of the forest,
where the sun dares to peek through the trees and your heartbeat keeps time with the pulse of the earth.
Close your eyes and let your back kiss the moss,
feel the way it grows to engulf your skin,
pulling to you down into its veins.

There is no need to be afraid anymore,
where the forest stands witness
to the rebirth of your skin.
Press your palms to the earth
and lean into the melancholy
of the dirt under your fingernails,
feel it rise and fall under your lifelines
and know that the heartbeat will play on.

Have you ever listened to the song that surrounds you now?
It has called for you,
pulled you in,
begged for you to gaze upon its melody and understand
that it has always been meant for you.
Let your heartbeat keep time with the pulse of the earth
its rhythm steady as you descend
under its skin.

When you open your eyes once more,
you will be anew,
eyes gazing over this world, fresh and naive,
but it will still be there,
its steady rhythm linking with the sound of your pulse.
It is everywhere
and yet, you know,
it is only meant for you.
Only for you.

A little marimo moss ball.
Unfazed in its glass ball.
Just another peaceful sunny day.
To not go about and enjoy the day.

A lonely marimo moss ball.
Looking in a mirror on the wall.
Noticing nothing has changed.
Isolation is still here, untouched.

Blossom with love and courage into the spring,
that is unalike the one before it, but none the less
full of growth and the sweet scent
of possibilities

Blossom in the light of positivity
for you have carried too much sadness
and cradled too much fear. Aren’t you tired?

Bloom
like all things on earth bloom
Flower into your next life, naturally
unfold

Fluorescence is your call
tenderly guiding you wild flora
into the fauna where you belong
You too are that, which came from earth
and grows from light

Winter beckons a spring,
and it’s your turn wild flora.

Mother nature is crying out
The ground is barren and cracked open like a festering wound
Too much innocent blood has been spilled by both beast and man
By our so called human race
Who has proven to be quite inhuman
We have filled your beautiful skies with pollution
Devastated the ground we walk on with explosives
Cut down the very trees that give us oxygen
While creatures both big and small are disappearing
The same way Love and brotherhood is becoming extinct
And animosity is available in abundance
As greed and the lust for money lingers on
We simply turn a blind eye
Therefore mother nature herself is retaliating against us
Revolted by our actions
We capture creatures from the sky and sea
And put them on display like puppets
Then charge mankind a fee to see
We have dug our own hole and made our own bed
For we have stripped mother nature of her beauty and crown
While radiation is all around
We hope to sleep safe and sound
Until one day a bell will ring and signal the end to this mess we're in
Then we will shout 'God forgive us for the fools we've been'

Daisy.
A little flower with white petals that sometimes turn pink.
An orange centre that withstands the constant extraction of those petals, with the pang and echo of tiny voices shouting
“He loves me; he loves me not”-
Often mistaken for a ****.

Daisy.
A girl who winces with insecurity
Every time the nearest dandelion clock is
Plucked from the soiled earth around her.
She watches with wet, reddened eyes as she is paralysed
(If being limbless can equate to such a feeling)
And unable to stop the careless children blow away Time as if it were some sort of lark-
Seed by seed.

Daisy.
A witness to the exposure of stalks and leaves alike;
A veteran of the unwanted embrace and, indeed,
The wanton thieving of petals and memories and silence and voice
Combined.
She is swaying but explicitly not
Bending to the wind.
She stands her ground, and
She has blossomed.