NaturesOde

 

Massey Harris Ferguson factory. Brantford. Heavy machinery.

  Thanks to Yasmeen Hussain.

 

He has come from the Glen To a fearsome place It is dry and raw Giving ostrich space. And he made his camp With the family sweet. Waiting patiently For a tribe to meet. They are warriors cruel And they love to fight Will his Gospel gold Move them toward the right. And will charity Take a throne in hearts. And will Jesus' rule Get this chance to start. (Painting by Bev Blair*) .

I sit at the Boardwalk. Goderich and the  Bountiful blues. Folks stroll by Possessing all the time  In the world For a weekend. Silly small chatting. Smelling of tanning lotion. High level UV glasses. Lovers hands entwined Saying very little  But having a special intimacy Belonging, settlement. Lovely place. Watching the Race. Above a seagull Laughs at my involvement. And a child’s screech Playing volleyball. With neighbours from Hamilton.

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  Whatever you need you scrounge  No ready cash on this Alaskan island Barter or snoop around. Share and share Trade and trade. Discover old motors Scrap metal Jars of screws, nails Eye bolts and chain. Heavy rope. Fire starter cubes. Eureka.

  There are markings Of a  f isher c hasing A  lunch  or a  torrid  lover To consummation. Blue Jay draws Snow angels Wrestling with smaller Ornithology. For a  choice  nut. Whining  through  pines Just like  queer  musical score. But the  fragrance In the air unforgettable. There are  suggestions  of That  warmer  summer's day. Rains all past. And hope for the Furtive heart. Strong as a  sizzling  fire Neath  glazed  and Dripping branch. Waiting. Not shivering

  Vicious  little creeper Ever on the move Somewhat  white  for Winter of  remote  Kamchatka. Staying  clear  of Lynx  wolverine  eagle Piercing  winds  crystalline Gigantic tigers Bears are asleep Brutal men Who  trade  pelts. Skinny and burrowing. Sensing  smelling  hearing Teensy vole Thirty inches Down in  chilly  snow cover. Must eat quarter Of his body weight In meats. Daily or lose Out on oxygen, power Nutrient warmth. Hope for tomorrow. Maybe. slick fella.

  Creepy passageway. Worst part of trip. October sombre mood Moon peeking from cloud. Leaves rustle complaint. Reminds me of Ichabod. Schoolmaster on loan. After jolly banqueting. Sleepy Hollow. Chased by maniacal  Headless horseman. Brandishing candled pumpkin. With hacked out Face of hate and horror. If only to cross The Bridge up ahead And dive into Inn’s bed. Settling one’s head.

Gramps left the town The folks of years The job The routine. Made himself the Cabin. After tenting for Two spring months. Befriended the seasons’ rush The morning sounds  The little projects. His son, my Papa Assured me, little Francine Two wonderful weeks Out there. Best part of all year. And Arrow, his peregrine Made for rich fun In the hunt And tasty rabbit stew. Twice as delicious With my Gramps. Highland winds whining. Cook fire snapping. And some old Scots tune.

  This a grand bright partnership As the waving clover grows And my little friends all busy Gathering swiftly, Heaven knows. And I slowly pace the hives Measured help all dressed in mesh Knowing Beulah Land's rich treasure Gleams within those combs so fresh. What a peerless manufacture What a mystic searching out Workers buzz upon the airways Mapped in magic by the Scout. And I sense that God is smiling As He sees me pace the field With an eagerness to harvest And to think on Mercy's yield .

  Take a running leap? Natch.

What gets me is The stupendous gathering Late September. Blazes of orange. Branches gorged with Monarchs. Thining of Mexico. But first the Lake And many a state And topography. Where the food stamina? Sense of direction? Magnetic fields operative? And then there is  That terrific burst Of wings unified As if one set. Up and happily Southward. Point Pelee National Park.  Check it out folks.

Masses of pink As we make final turn To light with our twin seater. Nose into headwind. Easy descent to a verdent Shoreline. Elephants now four Trumpeting Over victorious Drink and dip. With no other competition. Countless birds All wanting to be heard. Discovered. Fattened. Pinkened on the Water's nutrient. Seeking out that Sexy, hardy, horny Choice among thousands. No desire to hurry. Barometer promises A warm and leisurely Sojourn. Beer. Sausages cooked. French breadstick. Jars of dark caviar. Yeah, caviar for two Happy voyagers With oodles of time  To laze and joke Midst the swirling pink. Of neighbours.

Timidly the doe Makes for the pond Down low within Ancient BC forest Firs and hemlock. A cracked branch alerts! The lynx has missed One precious step In stalking. Poised behind One large rock Forty five feet distant. Dead in stillness Whiskers twitching. Eyes intent. But too late. Meal disappearing. Doe taking a tangent Through waters. Making distance happen. Crows above Make their applause Riotous. Chalk one up for Mrs. Meal.

  Sugar is on And young Buck Ecstatically Wants the Bush As we collect. Six years old And ingrained in Ways of the Quiet People Waterloo County. The pace The peace The prayers  The purpose The plentiful. Today will be good. Out comes our Collecting Wagon With vats. Buck jumps and yips His delight. *painting by Peter Etril Snyder

Met  him  after sundown His  smoke  break Back of our building Cool and quiet One  mourning  dove Serenading from lamp post On the street. A Syrian, here  eleven  years Shy  about  his  English  usage Studying at an  ESL  group. Making  progress  but Not fast enough, he says. I  commend  him on his accomplishment. Up  careens  a current Model of Honda. Son  inside  and smiling. Basket of  fruit  for Dad. And  cherry  tomatoes. Out of the  building  burst Two  daughters  tall Slim and beautiful. Long dark hair, shining. Young  twenties  and laughing. Dad’s  pride  and joy. Fully  assimilated  and proud. Proud of Papa. He  risked  so much Left all behind. Watched the  ensuing  broadcast horrors From a  thankful  distance.

Wow, this poem is powerful! Your use of simple yet impactful dialogue between these two men is very effective in conveying the weight of a serious health condition. The way that Tim offers his kidney to Bill is incredibly touching and shows the deep bond that they have formed. As for improvement suggestions, I would recommend perhaps adding a bit more sensory detail to the scene to fully immerse the reader. Maybe describe the bus station, other people around, the weather, etc. to make it feel more real. Additionally, consider adding some internal thoughts or emotions from the characters to give them more depth. Overall, this is a great piece that leaves a lasting emotional impact. Well done!   « https://www.poetry.com/poem/154036/uber-driver-does-something%E2%80%A6

  She was exhausted From day’s toil The children’s care Usual turmoil. And she held the Place of woman. Silent, domestic, chattel. Been for years The custom’s prattle. Men’s put-down While  girls  put forth. Still,  there  had been Good reports. Of a  Rabbi  hiking round. Up North. Other  women  new hope found. He saw  everyone  the same. Jesus was His Name. Rumoured now as Son of God. How odd. Women  considered  the  first  place Looking in His Face.

  The bird has been tired And hunted out.Eyes not as keen Talons missing the easy grasp Passing over glassy waters. He knows time now For the grander heights Thinner airs Pinnacle perch. And there shall occur Restoration New youth Changed insights Sharpening. A desirable fast. Godly agenda.  Might we do the similar?

Daren't step outside So much is unknown For an old bird like me. Lonely 'tis most days. Can't raise a conversation On any of those Good old issues. All around traffic Radio hosts And screaming youngsters Hopped up on mood pills And violent www tales. Too much bother And commotion And mindlessness. Some say Progress. Not I, no not I. And the one old pal Bruce is all buggered Up in the head. Pity. So the pipe smokin' Here is good The warm shed The memories Aaagh. Life has been good Mostly. Shorter days coming.

  The field worker heard say Give it another year Rough it up Dig it round Give nutrient And ample water Sunshine Gentle breezes. Ministrations of the bees. I will allow that year.  You be diligent. Otherwise at close Of that time. No delicious figs In evidence and bringing Glory to me and My largesse. Go for the axe Wield it viciously. Rake the lonely Ground smooth. Are you that fig tree? Am I? Are my children? I shudder at such A prospect. And I warn. Yes I warn.

  Mother sees the Crow Kids are focused on gorging Her brilliant crop Crying for the salad bar. Oblivious to that threat. Nearby. Mom does the Wounded wing Flight of disability. All a ruse. Up into the glare Of early PM. THEN DIVE-BOMBING swift rude and painful. She does not see  Second Crow Up from the cattails. Quick grabs and gulps. Nursery decimated. Maternal purposes Obliterated. Sigh.