Aug 17

The Tomato Hornworm

Fat and plump from tomato leaves.

Inching across on tiny sticky legs.

Stuffing its ungainly body.

Stripping stems bare.

Leaving only shreds.

It dared to show its face.

It was frighteningly ugly.

Not even birds would peck it.

The worm was gargantuan.

Flailing its jaws.

Rearing its horn menacingly.

A not-so-miniature monster.

Sentenced to banishment.

For slicing tomato stems

Enlarging its pudgy temples.
Jul 01

A stormy night

The humid air dragged in my throat as I scribbled on a notepad, not wanting to forget.

Heat lightning danced in thundering radiance along ridges of shadow.

A bloodened moon rises as a dead husk of bone instead of a bright pool of energy.

Fireflies charge their bioluminescent light in the sprinkle of rain, mirroring the sky.

The fan droned in the window, hardly sharing the cold blowing air with any of the house inhabitants.

As I write this true poem without my second pair of eyes, I can barely see the flashes in the warm ink of night.
Apr 16

Light in the Darkness

Apr 16

Spring Comes Through

Jan 19

Chicken Feed

Dear Gracie,
I remember when
I threw chicken feed
You ate every beakful
Out of my hand
I picked you up
I felt your silky feathers
They were brown with white spots
You had a white head like a bald eagle
I named you Gracie
After myself
Back when you were a chick
I could tell you apart from the others

You were always afraid of me
Even though I loved you and fed you
I also fed the creatures of the woods
But not with feed
But not with intention

One night
I dreamed of you
I saved you from a horrible storm
While my brother plucked feathers
From one of your siblings

I was aware but unaware
I had future vision
My dream was a metaphor
It was right in a backwards and twisted way

Because you didn't come back
I still searched
I still found,
I found you
I buried you under an apple tree
I picked dandelions
Jan 12

Day and Night

Fireflies dance, spiraling to and fro
Rivaled by bright mushrooms, before the dawn
And like the fireflies, they are aglow.

Red lilies rise above two sleeping fawns
Below a bird with an emerald sheen
In sight of moles who slurp worms in the lawn.

Drops slide across stems of the brightest green
Box turtles shiver with their orange toes
Pine trees rinse, soaked in that same rain that cleans.

Darkness returns with their light fungus foes
With dancing insects, swirling to and fro.
Jan 08

Ode to Sleep

Thank you for nestling me in, warm and soft, into a new world,
Thank you for taking me away to my place, for just a little bit,
Thank you for giving me my imaginative mind of splendor or of darkness while I rest my tired eyes.

Resting in your wake leaves me tireless,
I worship your deep feeling,
You are like rain clouds, mist, and eating too much chocolate.
You are drifting and fazy.
You put me in a state of wonder.

Is this the place I'm actually living in?
It this actually real life?
It feels real,
Or maybe it doesn't,
It's fading now,
You're gone.

You always seem to leave too soon,
But you always come too late,
My yearning for you lengthens and exaggerates your wait time,
But no matter,
You come anyway.

With your dark rays of sun,
With your dreamy worlds,
With your library of movies that is always expanding,
Dec 05

A Pine's Wisdom

The pine tree is flexible.
Looking through a sea of evergreen needles is a young bird sheltering from the cold winter wind.
It knows this pine is a haven for waiting out snowstorms.
That it keeps its needles.
It is flexible.
It likes all the seasons.
Unlike other trees.
They loose their leaves.
Looking through drooping boughs that are heavy with rain is an old crow hiding its jet black feathers from the downpour.
It knows this pine is a save haven for sleeping through northeasters.
That it doesn't break.
It is flexible.
It keeps it needles in the early seasons.
Unlike other trees.
They break in the wind.
Looking through fluffy lush foliage is a bobcat cub resting in the shade.
It knows this pine is a haven from the blistering sun.
That is has good shade.
It is flexible.
Unlike other trees.
Their canopies are more sparce and wilt in the intense heat.
Oct 23

Odd Snake Out

Chapter 1

Ivory slithered through snake county in Rutland, Vermont. After spending winter in the local hibernaculum, she was thoroughly sick of other rattlesnakes.

Why did she have to be the odd snake out? What made them scorn her differences, when they never did that to other snakes? How did it benefit them? Could they change? These were questions Ivory had asked herself last winter, and the winter before that, ever since she had hatched.

Ivory was now slithering through dense woodland; dead leaves still littered the forest floor from last autumn. Other rattlesnakes would have the advantage here, as they would have plenty of camouflage under the stale foliage. But Ivory would stand out here, as clear as day, with bright green skin, yellow spots, and and a bright chestnut-red rattle. That is why she would normally hunt in the swamp, a place where she had the camouflage advantage, the place where she hatched, her home.
Sep 30

Fall Senses

This is fall.

Yellow birch leaves flutter to the ground like a cabbage moth in a meadow.
The startling red of a maple leaf on the forest floor against ordinary brown ones.
The fake blood on the painted faces of children dressing up to ask people for free candy.

The silence; so intense that I could almost hear the clouds wisping across the sky.
The occasional sharp caw of a crow complains about the frosty cold.
The trees rattle their dormant branches in the haunting wind.

The delicious smell of old plastic as I bust out old Halloween decorations.
The leftover smells of rotting Jack o' lanterns that were from this year's past Halloween.
The smell of grey, decaying goldenrod in an uncut field seems superior to all the other field smells at this time of day.