Category Archives: poems about nature

Oak




This brave beauty
has been buffeted 
by autumn's steely breath,    
robbed of its faded cape.
Not one thread clung 
to shield it 
from winter chill. 
Twigs snap, strained limbs 
creak and break, 
yet victory is gained; the tree 
remains staunch,
tall and erect. 
Vanquished 
by harsh wind, 
leaves crumble 
and decay into mulch 
to feed next season's 
stunning display.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Where Dirt is Clean

grass-1435883__340

We grow too great to discern the details,
rising until our brains
break through the ceiling
into a dusty room where those before us
have soared and suffocated in shallow pursuit.

Blinded by the murk, we stain our minds with
what might have been, what could be,
ambition clouding the need to return to our roots
where earth suffers for our science and greed.

Lie by my side
where grass tickles skin,
where ears listen to insects that sing,
where life holds no record of seconds and minutes,
where breathes the core of our being.
Lie silent with me where dirt is clean
and we are real.

.

Written for The Daily Post Daily Prompt:  Core

©Jane Paterson Basil

River

River1.jpg

It tempts me;
its silvered surface shimmering,
singing swishing songs of thrilling terrain
way beyond regal, towering trees
which cool its clean, unfeeling floor,
beyond eroding ochre banks
where brave blades of grass battle the flow.

“Follow,” it trills,
“follow, beyond your mediocre days,
beyond worn lanes and dark pathways;
beyond the things you know;
follow where I go.
Follow.”

 It tempts me,
as, endless, it flows,
impatient to take the next bend, frothing
at inanimate objects that would slow it,

secretly stealing shreds
of shrinking stones and rotting logs,
to stash wherever they may land.

“Follow,” it trills.
Beneath the lilting descant shrill
I note a deeper, throaty tone,
as if it’s sung for me alone;
this lulling intimate refrain,
“Follow where I go.
Follow”

No single body this,
but a mighty band of haphazard travellors;
an offhand crew of discrete molecules,
too miniscule for our dim eyes to see singly,
as they weave, sharing the road awhile,
then parting company,
perhaps to meet another time;
in the sky, in water pipes,
or in some distant clime;
the whole planet their home,
racing forever on,
adventurous travellors
with ne’er a planned destination.

“Follow,” it trills,
“follow, beyond your mediocre days,
beyond worn lanes and dark pathways;
beyond the things you know;
follow where I go.
Follow.”

Ever tempted to give chase,
  each time I stay where I feel safe.

~o~

©Jane Paterson Basil