#vermont
The muted sky lies on the hill
Plush snow upon the land, abounds
Harsh winter forces all her will
Drives drowsy creatures underground
Trees naked, bleak and ghostly still
Stand silent, thin forgotten ghouls
Around dark roots the snowflakes spill
And melt into small frozen pools
Through craggy rocks a tender rill
Wends through a wood of umber hue
Fights gravity and earth until
The river gives it life anew
The twilight bows as darkness fills
All of Vermont in moonless sleep
Inside the Inn at Weathersfield
The winter, warm and long and deep
Dec 8, 2025
Dec 8, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
It's in the crisp morning air,
The sparkling maples
Coated in snow.
It's in the old weathered mountains,
The verdant forests
Speckled with roofs.
It's in the small cozy towns,
The rolling farms
Cows and all.
It's in the natural relaxed manner,
the antique feel
In modern day.
It's in the deep emerald Vermont,
The beautiful state
I call home.
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 8:33 PM UTC
Somewhere in Vermont
I see the sky
Stars scattered
like lighting bugs back home
Clouds drift,
Cold breeze,
Threatening rain
Shaped like an unfamiliar constellation
Headlamps shine
Some red, some blue, some yellow
Some bright, some dim
There's a presence here
Neither scary
Or threatening
Or even mysterious
People breathe,
A guitar sounds,
Pens scribble
Each in unity with the other
Somewhere in Vermont
People write
Separated by space
Their own thoughts
Spilling around them
Combining as one
Yet still
Individual
Brought together
By happenstance
They breathe together
as
One
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
I wander trails that are shaded by trees
until I reach the first steep rock scramble.
Walking steadily on old, crunchy leaves
I believe it's the mountains' preamble
I scale these rocks with eager hands and feet
my yearning heart pumps blood through my blue veins.
This mountain will not hand me my defeat
muscles strain and the rocks help break my chains.
Sturdy rocks and sacred trees surround me
their presence strengthens my weak, depressed bones.
My muscles burn with effort, but I'm free
to become one with the trees and the stones.
Though there are times where my mind may plummet.
I'll survive the fall, I've reached the summit.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC
as snow
was laid
cross the
valley here
and aft-blown
streets still
mashed on
pavements as
the foothills
were now
pipes for
skiing that
just once
I'd see
her snow
angel tonight
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
Spring comes
as grasses leap forth
and emerald hues are added to the landscape,
with wildflowers peeking up from the
dewy roadside.
The world smells
fresh like worms and earth,
while birds drift down to finish last year’s
seeds.
Yellow rain boots hop
out of shelves and into the puddles,
while mud gathers and plays in the road,
gurgling with mirth at passers by.
The badminton net is resurrected,
regally looming over the lawn,
as the swings squeak joyfully in the breeze.
The fireplace gives a sooty yawn
and falls to sleep.
And in the kitchen, fiddleheads unfurl upon
a hot pan
as the old and sour scent of the earth
settles upon our plates,
spring steps lightly
onto the world.
~Yuka Oiwa
May 6, 2008
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
a woman I once knew
that came fly with me
why I've been there
she found 'twas me
in Rutland only she
pitted & fell in love
yet believed in me
until such a lore
with her bikini
by the shore
that admire
rendezvous
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC
finally
a moment
comes
delicately
to sit
relaxed
in quiet
peace.
I close my eyes
to hear
what is in the silence.
beautiful summer rain
soaking
the trees
an the old metal roof
sings along
with unusual songbirds
this year
creaky aluminum
bends in temperature changes
a door sways
back an forth
gentle rhythms
all together
a benevolent band
wet parachuting droplets
bursting on impact,
a soft howling wind
accompanying
their tune.
my ears hummmm..
with vibrations,
apparently
I only hear
when I listen
so intently to life.
which is something
I need to do more often
to be honest
amongst the utter
chaos an confusion
I am currently in.
contentedness for me
is a destination I seek.
it is then-
it is then when I find my ZEN,
where I can honestly be
I honestly am
appreciative
for even
the pain
that I have felt.
that I've endured.
that I have persevered over.
why?
you might wonder?
I think it is simple-
cumulus clouds provide rain,
rain provides water,
water is life.
I am water,
an therefore
I wish to be.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 8:17 AM UTC
I can tell you that I am tall,
an I am also not petite,
an some they might say sturdy,
like a tree who has two feet,
An I used to be so thin,
as a stick, I heard em say,
though I won't say I'm too big,
I'm no longer quite that way,
Well I have a little belly,
as some older women do,
I earned it,
what I think,
with my cooking yeah it's true,
So someone might say "chubby"
an I guess OK with that,
I keep an eye on the scale each day,
so I won't end up too fat,
as I sample of my cooking,
to add in this an that,
Sometimes I might wear some makeup
though most days I do not,
especially in the summertime,
when the sun is blazing hot,
I wear my jeans till *****
yup more than just few hours,
some say I am a witch,
who's got some kinda powers,
I like the rain a lot you know,
and soaking in warm showers,
I'm not sure that I'm ****
my face has many wrinkles,
I like vanilla bean ice cream,
with some yummy chocolate sprinkles,
and some say that I still glow at night,
my eyes they sorta twinkles, ; )
I sip my wine at night to ease,
I work and write by day,
my thoughts come in a rushing breeze,
way more than I can say,
I see the world much differently
than others who are around,
I hear the leaves as they fall dreaming,
an as they hit the sacred ground,
poetry is everyone,
in every lovely sight -an sound
I love my little Tanley cat,
he sits atop my shoulder,
first thing in the morning too,
an each day I'm gettin' older,
I don't take the **** life gives,
cuz I'm a gettin' a lil' bolder,
winters in Vermont are now
much warmer 'stead of colder,
I have an older Subaru,
with lucky all wheel drive,
that thing is like a tank ya know,
it's helped me stay alive,
if you are in the wilderness,
I could help ya to survive,
I cut an split our wood a lot,
but I say the "F" word too,
an I can cook most ANYTHING,
especially a stew!!
Emmmm, emmm yummy!
an I don't have a lot of friends,
but the few I have are true,
If you really wanna know-
just what I'm really like,
well come up to Vermont -c'mon!
and we'll take a lovely hike,
or take snowmobile out in wintertime,
or catch a real big ugly pike,
or introduce you too my 6'8"
nephew -
who's name is little Mike,
I am so honest- genuine,
I love all people- same,
love is in my heart you see,
to me- it's not a game,
and life is what you make it,
so it's not about the blame,
an I no longer carry anger near,
or not any hidden shame,
I am a very gentle soul,
unless you cross me bad,
and even then I'd likely be,
only maybe sad,
I use my measures often too-
especially the "tad" : )
I think you'd want me in your corner-
I defend mine 'til the death,
an I will speak my certain truth-
until my last an dying breath,
Most days I feel misunderstood,
a curse I bear - alone,
I keep here pretty quite too,
an I like to be at home,
I guess I'm left of center,
NO didn't vote for stupid Trump,
I called him more than maybe twice,
an orange looking angry chump,
I have so many scars,
on my hands from workin hard,
I think I made clean money,
an now I am the bard,
Of a place I love the very most,
where I am my own queen,
and living every day here,
is nothing but a dream,
as I have come to realize,
things are never as they seem,
And we all need to learn,
to be present and to be,
okay with that,
as content is what I seek,
an until I am in total peace,
then I will write,
till the last word that I speak,
turning our truth-
into beautiful poetry.
Ma Cherie © 2017
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:17 AM UTC
A bubbling goodness,
and some simmering heat,
like the melting of heaven
that just can't be beat,
intoxicating wafts,
so sickeningly sweet,
In swirls of deep Cocoa,
and fresh Vermont cream,
my homemade hot chocolate,
is like sipping a dream,
A warm and delicious place to escape,
come in from the cold of the world,
in a ball on the couch,
where I sit and I sip,
with my cat where he is,
as he's curled,
He's up on my lap,
as I give him a pat,
on his thankful and sweet little head,
and I say that I'm thankful for all
and for our comfy warm little bed,
and I watch it snow - at last,
I listen to music that's alive in this place,
a friendly sweet smile comes to my face,
I say me a thank you,
to whoever will hear,
I hear comfort whispered again in my ear,
and I feel a beautiful moment of peace.
Ma Cherie © 2017
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
Those wood covered walls, water damaged floors, torn up carpets
hold memories.
That candy wrapper, that's been there for three years,
The office where deep conversations where held early into the morning
The old birch tree which friends and family gathered around
The hill on which children sleigh, speeding down almost to the road
Smoke fills the air with the roaring fireplace,
day in, day out.
until the departure day
the smoke clears, the memories are pushed aside
Bustling, Hustling to rush out
Rushing too fast to enjoy the last moments,
moments you can never get back.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
The story Clinton Jarvis - my father.
Isle La Motte Roots
There's a place of quiet peace
In beautiful Vermont
It is filled with history
It beckons you, and haunts
In pacific Lake Champlain
It's called Isle La Motte
The lake is long and narrow
A lovely gem-like blue
The Island lies within its shores
It is a jewel, too.
Emerald in the summer
In fall a topaz hue
Old style houses charm us
With plain stone quarry frames
There are many maple trees
In fall these become flame
Churches with tall steeples
All barns look much the same.
From Blanchard's Point to The Head
North to south we go
Clark's & Reynolds to Fisk & Scott's
These east/west points we know
From The Lighthouse & Fort Stann
To the marble quarries low.
It seems the rock on Isle La Motte
Was formed from glacial ice
Which pressed the clay beneath it
As if it were a vice
The marble from the quarries
Is especially nice!
Samuel Fisk founded some of these
Marble blue, black, and grey
Many used the sturdy stones
Solid houses in the way
They can be found everywhere
And still stand to this day.
There was an ingenious sawmill
Powered by a boat!
A large and hearty steamer
By The Dock would float
The "Utica" by name
As sawmill founders wrote.
The taverns and inns
Had distinctive place
It would be so heartening
To see a merry face
There the weary travellers
Could find warmth and grace.
Famous for its apples
There are many orchards found
John Bowman & William Yale
Planted in the ground
My father was one who picked from them
Folks came from miles around.
The Fleury Store had merchandise
Sold to people from their stock
Carson's Store and Naylor's
Store to store the folks would walk
Often a place of meeting
Where people stood to talk.
Elizabeth Fisk. Creative.
She had looms, and linen wrought
This fabric so very fine
Much of it was bought
There were also boats and ferries
On an island... used a lot!
Nelson Fisk secured the Post Office
James Ritchie built in stone
His relation, Cynthia
Maintained the library alone
Succeeded by M. LaBombard
For faithfulness much known.
Both Methodist and Catholic
Worship the Divine
The faithful go to churches
No matter what the clime
A place of fame on Isle La Motte
Is lovely St Anne's Shrine.
The original schools on Isle La Motte
We're founded by strong men
Independent. Intelligent.
Created they back then.
Back in 1782 they had discerning ken.
The school my father went to
Only had one room.
He graduated the 8th grade
For his future groomed
But went to High School elsewhere
Back then quite a boon!
The Jarvis' were tennent farmers
Not much to be made
But the beauty of the place
Embraced them in its shade
T'was in this environment
Where young Clinton played.
Amongst the leaves - jade and fire
Honey'd amber caught
He found a love of nature
He was reared and taught
Here his story started
A place called Isle La Motte.
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C)1/11/2017
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 6:50 AM UTC
In fields of frozen crystal white,
in refractions of an inner light,
that stretch on for miles,
& miles & miles,
I hear a call in icy hills,
and birds with funny frozen smiles,
I see the clouds of white applaud,
as the colors take a little bow,
in pinks I've never seen before,
burning oranges on fire now,
I wish for you to see this place somehow,
It really takes your breath..
a w a y,
this place I love so dear,
I tell you in these words tonight,
to draw you really, really near,
For hours,
closely as I...
W h I s P E r
gently,
in your ear,
As we head off now & off we go,
into another year,
& again we go with what we know,
on without a single fear,
I say dear ones,
I say this too,
I say my dearest poet friends,
I say to this,
I say to you,
I say to all,
I say,
AMEN.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC
Fires burn all night,
it's been so long,
since we've all seen one another,
As dancing flames lick the air,
pulling an all nighter,
a willing sacrifice,
is offered,
to the heating God,
a Soapstone fireplace,
made locally,
In her lovely sturdy black cast iron,
she's rugged that baby,
cooking everything perfectly,
in the kitchen,
& heating everything else in the house,
to perfection too,
Warmed hearts beat,
A single tear falls,
as we survived the day,
a load off my mind,
some relief from the grind,
Again,
I'm soooo,
satiated,
from my,
middle Eastern dinner,
sharing the love,
& the brilliant composition,
WOW I hear -
A-mazing chef, truly,
Ahhhh t'was nothing really,
but thank ya,
emmm...
roasted root veggies,
prepared,
with a lovely maple glaze,
spicy and sweet,
but really such a filling treat,
A cherry glazed ham,
arugula, herb & green salad,
homemade oat rolls with fresh Vermont butter,
melted,
Yum,
I'm a piece of Vermont,
my capable hands,
handed down to me,
making Wintry
M A G I C
in your kitchen,
cuz' I'm just a guest tonight,
in this house anyway,
The twinkle lights in the room,
look just like dragonflies to me,
gold and orange shining,
so glad they stopped in,
everyone,
all day,
Good people,
good food,
good times,
GREAT memories,
It must be 80 degrees in here,
I'm roasting in this place,
As a lone candle is left flickering,
into a small mountain of wax,
as it is dripping down the side,
permanently changing the mantel,
My alter,
just for you,
is adorned with crystals & stones,
as I hold a crucifix & bones,
I pray another day like this,
folded hands don't lie,
early till late,
finally a reprieve,
I try to believe,
As tired grateful hands and bellies,
my "fandamnly"
are all in jammies,
& tucked in tight,
love you all I say goodnight,
sweeeet dreams sweet poets,
All in flannel and the like
as our boots & mitts dry out,
A busy fire,
is doing so much,
a fan is whirring,
all are,
resting so peacefully,
a mother's true joy,
a lover, & a friend,
on whom you can depend,
I love you all so very much,
I miss you too,
I'm watching that beautiful man sleep,
and snore so low,
watch him breathe again,
I say please don't go,
As the heavy wet snow,
blankets these Green mountains,
covering my world tonight,
it cleans the sins of the day,
& yesterday,
wash us clean,
in that pure white,
Low music,
is playing,
into the still,
it was left on,
I remember it all with you,
& I probably always will,
cheers my love,
wherever you are,
so very very far above,
My head is down on a soft pillow,
warm sheets and blankets,
As I set to see you again,
in my dreams,
Gently closing my eyelids,
you bid me adieu,
again I'm reminded,
reminded of you,
Yup,
pulling an all nighter with your memory again,
As I,
just,
d
r
i
f
t
.
.
.
.
.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Opossum's in Vermont, Humph.
Ain't no kitty,
looks like Global Warming doesn't it?
Yup, it sure does poet.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
The only place more wonderful,
than Vermont is right now,
would be there with you,
tonight,
landed from Heaven,
in awe inspiring beauty,
struck like lightning,
sent to a waiting door,
I touchdown,
You are perfection,
I snuggle safely,
in your arms,
& warmed by the fire,
burning the night,
& it's midnight oil,
So here's to wishing,
on the last star,
still shining,
in a brilliant lovers,
eyes.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
I found her out there
and full of despair
that I winced besiege
fore I knew she was here
but on my final leg that she was mine
with a stone on her fraught a milestone pledge received
by her water rapids would sound so sweet
with a blessing she'd now invoke
and her rapture I learned only her woods may inspire.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
Somewhere,
out in the middle of nowhere,
there is a space,
where bare bones performance's
are nightly taking place,
like theatre at its best,
thrilling energy
a chill in the air,
you are creating
unique worlds on a stage
& I hear it's all the rage
a modest audience,
captivating you are
so utterly charming and memorable,
I can get lost in your woods
in that beautifully familiar rural spot,
harvesting &
catching hay fever,
running through the barns
in empty old bays
of long vacant farms,
while the cattle graze placidly,
my usung heroes beckon,
along split rail fences,
haunting..
along the old railroad beds,
down unknown highways
& on little know by ways
& drifting in skyways
through the years & the tears
as the last of the Summer flowers,
bloom and bow their head,
in the rain & the pain,
and the words you gently hear
whispered softly in your ear,
spoke clearly to the sky
as they sadly say goodbye
& promised I wouldn't cry,
I listen to exactly what they said
as they are applauded for their stamina,
& bravery, as the chlorophyll,
chokes out the beauty
in everything else,
a way to take in the natural beauty,
**** a big breath in
& waiting to exhale,
I'm hiking home, ...
to my poetic theater,
with tables scattered about,
& mushroom stools,
a wonderland of creatures
around weaving arts,
threads spun in gold,
of my everyday life
again it is told,
like in a romantic candlelit
dinner date,
we sit beneath an glowing
incandescent Moon,
we are a rare & lucid,
sighting, two stars
two colors merged
from a Gods crayon box,
or a well thought out picnic
with a very special friend
farm to table wonders
delicious in every way,
you close your eyes to dream,
& all you ever need,
is an element of trust,
a sense of adventure,
appreciating the sacrifices
the pleasure fills the air
I'm traveling past,
as is if without a care
swimming in the frigid clean
& cold waters,
rolling mountains protect me on every side
come along for the ride,
down grey gravel roads,
with the heaviest load,
where trees still have some color,
as the pines & ever-greens brag,
& envious poison ivy,
climbs the silo
in burning fiery furnace red,
golden amber browns
& deep golden mustards
crunch beneath tires
as wood is drying out
& is readied for the fires,
beyond ****** meadows
& the bog where the Moose hide
that mysterious house,
perched pretty on the hill
weathered perfectly,
seasoned & mature,
looking wise & reminiscent,
of a different era,
and a show like this
would only cost 55 cents...
World War 2
in the Pacific just after it...
you moved to Vermont
and live like a hippie,
smoking our chimney
sitting silently
in classic melodious splendor,
a tune is playing
as wheat is swaying,
a fiddle, out in the middle
of my favorite fields
counting the bounty yield,
admiring the tractors parked
for the year
some think,
your just a farce
though I know the fear,
you're not a a travesty,
in shambles
your multi tone shingles
craving a dose of stain,
your old rocking chair
never earning the critical acclaim
you deserve & desire,
so lovely in your period costume,
as you sit there,
with ease and comfort,
awaiting patrons,
with your zany characters,
with open doors & cracking windows,
a sadness radiating,
from a broken style,
looking out at everything
glad with a frozen smile,
waving at yesterday's poets,
Getting ready for another show
and time is now, for another snow,
your solid pane's,
cheering others on saying
"way to go"...
and if...
If you ever find this place,
you don't know exactly,
what all the fuss is about,
ignoring the change of weather
pulling out that old red sweater
coming to this wonderful,
magical time
a little homestead theater
generationally strong
and melodramatic
with perfect comic timing
a delight
in the night,
I'll happily play the housemaid
delivering a tray of tea
with honey and cream
answering the doorbell
inviting you in
have a seat
giving you something to eat
and this is my treat,
I'll gladly greet the guests
make them comfortable
at our beautiful little venue
our ***** little nest
as the curtains open and close
for the shows,
730 it comes and goes
in the center of my universe
caught in a time warp,
so much good fun and laughter
inspired moments in a perfect ensemble
cast by my ancestors,
I had no idea it would taste,
so amazing,
this bittersweetness,
and so very delicious
my feet ache...
worn,
tired, relieved at last
I am,
coming home to you,
at last I hear,
you say,
welcome back.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC
Cornfield highways
& pumpkin pie
leaves are waving
a glad goodbye
tractors shining
in the sun
grateful for
a job well done
colors brighter
than any known
on winds of change
how they have blown
sappy flowers bow
their head to pray
thanking you
for time you stay.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC
Yut,
Well, I'd woke up early
**** rooster
just about the crack of dawn
last crickets chirping loudly
heavy dew carpetin' the lawn
cold air, ya know
can see my breath that time of mornin'
as the tired furnace is a kickin' in
Stretchin'
Emmmm hmmm, well dat'
woodstove she's a squirmin' with anticipation!
Yes sir,
smell of the incomin' weather
fresh cut and stacked Maple, except them box elder type you know gettin'
researched
Oak too, yut
some Birch ...burns real pretty
I hear them pumpkin patches callin'
eager to win those hearts
and the children
funny duffers in costumes
Ya, beckonin' a reckonin' they are
to become silky pies in their namesake
a big ol' mess left in that wake
from jack-o-lanterns,
& roasted an toasted
seeds of joy we use all win'ter 'round here
Kinda like the sound of them tires on the pavement ya know?
Warm hummin',
they're rustlin' down asphalt
with the leaves
visitors headed home again
will give way to the sloshin' of sleet, freezin' rain
whata' pain
Well here comes the ol' horses
and a wooden cart
to collect the trash
17 years
Percheron prizes them beauties
I really like that sound too
hoves clunkin' in perfect harmony
Yut, agreed,
love this place indeed
clip clopin' along with jinglin' bells soon
straight outta' Robert Frost he is
A symphony of smells
the ringin' of the church bells
time to eat
sighing
"Well...take a seat
Mornin' boys"
Oh Momma's up
Fill up her cup!
Oh thank you kindly
Well, we got some perfectly cooked hickr'y smoked local bacon
Scrambled eggs so beautiful and fluffy they look like clouds of clear yellow sunshine on that plate
those girls did well this year
Maple yogurt I insist on
with that crunchy homemade
sweet n' salty nut Granola
Don't forget some fresh fruit salad
stuff goin' on now
rest been reserved for winter days
Can't say that I'm not lookin' forward
to some wild blueberry pancakes
and that beautiful amber
Vermont maple syrup"
Yut,
was a lotta' work drainin' those sleepin' veins of golden sugar
emmmm
Is a great mornin'
"Good to savor the wonderful gifts the seasons bring, share and enjoy "
We certainly are grateful ma'am.
Take Your Hat Off What's The Hurry?
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
I am painting word pictures today
tasting hot incoming Autumn breezes
transforming splendor
dreary rain filled moments pass
bidding adieu
and welcome my rustic bamboo
fare thee well to Summer's sun
now in this Burning September
Entrancing
as the
dancing trees
in changing multicolored hues...
skies of crystal clear blue
cut outs of rolling hillsides
and lush Green mountains
in that endless and seamless quilt
sheltering the storms
My eyes are drawn
past the still lively green leaves
as the burning umber
and cardinal tipped ones
radiating
hat tipped
as chlorophyll ...
choking the beauty outward
from the petiole
like greedy verdant fingers...
the palm of my hand
I linger ...a moment
they wave in soft winds
...and I wave back
I remember
old-time Vermonters
like my Father
didn't care for the Sumac trees
thought perhaps a ****
only beautiful to look at
& they are so very lovely
These happy helpers
say hello to Fall
stick around
when everything else
already brown
holding down
needy dry hillsides
from erosion
growing fast and tall
turning into thickets...
for woodland critters
providing borders
unsung heroes beckon
along railroads,
highways ,
pastured Meadows
and Orchard edges
these beauties...
never really go away.
A harvesting moon
giving seasons
five months
from the time
the leaves fall off
until they grow back
in the spring time
serrated leafy knives
cut into the sky
a bittersweet
and bashful goodbye
sighing...
to drunken apples
and their dropping dried leafy friends
Surprisingly scrumptious
providing
we are foraging and gleaning
I make a lovely citrusy
sour and fruity tea
like wild cranberry juice...
imaging the Joy
inviting clusters of crimson know
Providing more than food
for winged ones
a sugar depository
loaded with antioxidants &
spreading sunshine
in darker months
Attracting lovely colorful winter birds
my winsome friends
seed eaters
small singing kindred spirts...
tempted by seeds pods
of the Staghorn Sumac
and remaining wildflowers
bursting like burgundy globes
scarlet and brick reds
mellow yellows
turning burning
blazing bright oranges
as the seasonal butterfly dreams
unfolding it's summertime schemes
right before my wondering eyes
European and English
Gardens know
varieties
I can only close my eyes to see
accentuating loose,
textured landscapes
stunning gardens
& fern-like cousins
across the world
A Middle Eastern grind
of this crimson spice
from those crushed dried drupes
while they prepare rice for dinner
I so appreciate
what a gift we have to share
time is running short before
as told to me in times of yore
we brace as one for Winter's Bone
though I am not alone
Vermont it is my earthly home
all I really want to say
thanks for sharing with me ...
on this perfect picturesque
Vermont September day.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC