Seasonal Love

Spring Showers and Summer Sunshine.

The seasons pass the baton to one another.

Showers of love just to be dried off by the sunshine.

Being left with a feeling of warmth and belonging.

The seasons remind me of the perfect examples of love.

More than just words these actions trail right behind them.

Fall Leaves and Winter White Wine.

I bag up all your leaves and never let them over flow because I never want you to fell overwhelmed by life.

Your shoulders will never feel heavy while I'm here.

White wine for the celebration of our love because few experience what conquers all.

Everyday is a holiday of love. 365 days of something special.

Nature teaches me what should be natural.

It's aware my sight occasionally blinds me, but I can always feel the seasons.

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Do you -- do you know the reason they moan? 

Like abled creatures and beings, 
or the pullings tides, 
our watchful trees with too to move. 

They wish to enjoy the harvest, to dance in their fallen leaves. 
They long to sway and sing with the times of change, 
and to see the miracles of seed. 

But their roots are buried deep, 
and to be removed is defeat. 

So they sing their lonely songs 
with weathered bark and 
branches that reach for more. 

These are the reasons they moan.  

Author's Notes/Comments: 

There was actually more to the poem, but I opted only to share the second half. Just a little something. At the time I was a rather interested in trees. Smile

The Wild Web


It's amusing to watch people of all ages jaw like ornery old men. It doesn't seem to be of any concern how unlikely the theme of discussion. I've seen the sexes square off about feminism. I've seen gear heads debate the nature of their displacement. I've seen the attack ads on adolescents that aren't ready for the spotlight. The salesman in the side bar has even given me hankerings for a Hot Pocket. If unchecked these colorful cabinets of information and arguments will start to create an illusion of life. But the pixels on a TV are different than the lights in Times Square. That's why every week I pick out moments to unplug. I sit under a tree. I study its lines and limbs. For all it's age of weathered seasons, not a single bicker is heard among its branches.


Multnomah Rain

Portland bound

Seems I'm lost

and then I'm found

In luminous rose gardens

I just gotta get my feet

Back On solid ground

The backdrop of this city

Is quietly drifting through

Countless Thoughts of you

and Emerald colored dreams

Under dark angry skies

Mount Hood and Rainier

Rise up silently majestic

In distant snowy white

I beg the misty shrouded

Coastal Mountain cascades

And rushing waterfall canyons

To not forsake me

To watch over me

To shelter me

To love me

And grasp me in the arms

Of this great Multnomah rain

Along this breathtaking Oregonian coast

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Devil's Tower

This infinite amber Wyoming

Landscape devours vast horizons

Under the grand shadowy vestige

Of Matho Thipila, the bear lodge

This is all so new to me

This is all so breathtaking

This is the genesis of me

With the red earth, rocks and trees

Circling trails under lush peaceful

Endless cerulian western skies

Lush Ponderosa Pine so fragrant

Cracks, columns, and ridges rising

Like a sacred tree suddenly cut off

From its sole divine source

The Milky-Way and a myriad of

Glittering frozen stars emitting blue

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Pine Lake

Long lost love...

Crystalline snowflakes

Descend gracefully, like feathers

Piercing the delicate unprotected

skin, Upon your beautiful face

In the cruelest of Winters

Harsh borderlands persist

Across distant lonely fields,

left vacant in the void,

 of your untimely departure

Radiance smolders, hidden amongst

summer ember dreams, and lightening

Sparkling flashes, of love and storms

Heart beat burning, crimson perylene

Scorching these endless, iridescent

Gray skies that silently absorb, auroras

And reflect a myriad of spirits,

that yearn for a reprise

Only to detect futures unseen

and the pain behind your eyes

These shores left somehow haunted

Down at Pine Lake

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*All The Colors of Nature*

Trisha M. Barrek Hopkins

The color of all the leaves when they change 
For when they get ready for winter 
Where all the animals get arranged 
And you trying to get out that wood splinter

For the winters snow will begin to fall 
When the insects go into hiding 
You know they heard the colds call 
Watching all the animals deciding

All the colors of nature 
Change the look of everything 
All the leaves color the pasture 
All the beauty that nature has to bring 
In the kids hearing all their laughter 
A calm sound when the nature sings


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Somewhere between light and dark 
falls the shadow ever lurking
twixt the fairness due impart
born of jealous sultry night
stunning shudders creep in full
to stop the pitch of blackness
dripping from the moon.
 Dawns glorious dagger appears
to slay once more the perils 
spilling the bloody death of night
o'er hill and dale alike 
heralding daybreak 
the survivor by 
way of hue lit dews
bejeweled upon her crown.
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Filtering golden through crimson leaves,

The Sun’s light and the regal Oak tree,

Create daily, a beauteous masterpiece.

An ever-changing portrait,

Drawn by the hand divine,

Is Nature’s gift to mankind.

Red dust, lilac dusk, and green cacti 

Bring forth a mosaic so majestic

A knotted throat and a teary eye

Spring forth, like first seeing your child.

Even those grim and gray thunderheads,

Attempt to document, hence the camera flashes.

How could such beauty come about? By chance?

Perhaps it did and humans, being children

Of the Earth, cannot help but see and be

Inspired, awed by our eternal matriarch.


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