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Poetry about Nature
Sponsored by
by Dakota Balmore
BIG SISTER RIVER [OPUS 50]Tiny, turbulent, tumbling stream,
Sprinkling wildly down the mountain side.
Meandering left and right with the gleam
Of a sparkling glow found deep inside.
Gushing past the lush and green underbrush,
Lapping by briskly exposing bedrock,
With your tiny roar much more than a hush,
Bouncing off boulders rolling past hemlock.
Crisp and cool the mists of early morning,
Enhanced gently by the rolling embrace,
Of your watershed shrewdly adorning,
The king with silvery, satiny lace.
Sweet surreptitious, sojourning sister,
Bouncing down along the ground, you abound,
In the speed of a tornado-like twister.
Your inner sanctum well, deep underground.
Splashing, swilling, and spilling to valley,
You give up your flow to the life-giver.
Rushing, springing forth with one last rally,
Do dutifully join big sister river.
Dakota Balmore © 1/22/96
LITTLE TREE SEEDLING [OPUS 64]
Little tree seedling dew-dropped by mother tree,
Lay by the seashore of gleaming other sea.
Carried so away, carried by the tide,
Drifting so astray, floating far and wide.
Arrive to make landfall, plucked from the beach,
Whisked on the wing, inland journey reach.
Dropped on the forest, on the forest plain.
Lying undisturbed, in the pelting rain.
Pushed gently beneath the firm earth,
Buried with its insignificant girth,
A tiny sprout, lifts up about,
Pushing its way, straight into day.
Struggling and straining to take in its share,
It forces its way up through the air,
Growing and growing larger by the week,
In thirty years passed reaches its peak.
When you or I happen by this tree,
Little do we know of its history.
And though it seems so mighty and tall,
Hidden is the path it took through the squall.
But so simple a tale as it seems,
There's total truth in all sanctum schemes,
In the seedling's quest to reach for the sky,
It may just as well have been you or I.
Dakota Balmore © 2/17/96
LAST LEAF [OPUS 96]
Last leaf tumbles down from bare sky above,
Fleeting like the dove tossing to and fro,
Pulled by the undertow of the soft autumn breeze,
Racing winter's freeze to bed underground.
Snows of silent sound settle the last leaf,
Majestic motif lies hidden within,
Frozen inside its inn of coolest ice palace,
Last leaf, like Alice, lost in wonderland.
Frost of winter sand spread by man of sleep,
Wakened by the sheep grazing near the wood.
The softness of the good, our leaf's legacy builds,
Other forest guilds through rich, fertile earth.
Like the last leaf's birth, our birth from that sleep,
Reminds us to reap all the promises kept,
And of the sorrows wept by all of humankind,
To become intertwined in the race undefined.
Dakota Balmore © 4/18/96
THE WONDERMENT OF RAIN [OPUS 120]
Rain falls on a willowy pond,
Sprinkled by the magic wand,
Of a puffy dark , electric machine,
Throwing sheets and sheets that sheen.
Cascading cadence cast to the hills,
Up the mountain streams along the rills,
Then runs rampant, raging through the trees,
Filling up ponds from quiet, gentle seas.
Darkened drops dangling from leaves,
Pushing past the edge where it cleaves,
To the green patchwork of cells,
Creating aromatic smells.
Droplets dripping from my brow,
Make me feel alive somehow.
Soaking and dripping wet,
This beautiful feeling does set,
The tone of nature's enhancement,
Of the gift of life's advancement.
Gently, as rain will do. . . .subsides,
And wanes against the waxing tides,
Of blue sky kingdom's painted rays,
Shining through disheartening days.
As I stand and stare at parting clouds,
And see the moistened rays in crowds,
Of passion that falls on someone else's fife,
I think of the wonderment of rain in life.
Dakota Balmore © 6/16/96
WOODS [OPUS 143]
How calm the woods in winter snow.
In spring comes forth the warming breeze,
And summer scents set free and flow,
While autumn charms us with her leaves.
In cold my woods are earthly friend,
Providing warmth to spark my soul.
Draped in snow to me they send,
The softest sigh of inner glow.
When spring abounds the wood resounds,
In greenish rush of underbrush.
Gleaming, sparkling all around,
Dashing, gasping past a hush.
In summertime between the glade
And mountains, they humbly provide
Relief from sun producing shade,
And fruitful bounty deep inside.
When curtain falls in autumn time,
The woods transpose to eerie change.
The leaves turn color all in rhyme,
And fall to leave a barren range.
What most I love about the wood,
As she embraces me with good,
Is how secure she makes me feel,
And fills my soul with fruitful zeal.
Second Nature Anthology
Dakota Balmore © 7-31-96
HILLSBOROUGH RIVER [OPUS 446]
What life there is in nature's flow.
The liquid air does drift aloft.
The living things that pause to grow,
Do bond as home within their loft.
The beating heart of river flow,
Beats the theme of life's esteem.
The pulsing drops all in a row,
Make the rushing flow a stream.
The shadowed weeds on bank, do thank
The gift of life ordained to land.
The towered trees do shade the dank
Green field above the layered sand.
The sight of slaking Hillsborough,
Does cool us from the dampening heat.
Our pastured day's scenario?
A liquid, cool refreshing treat.
Dakota Balmore © 6-13-97
MUSIC TO MY EYES [OPUS 487]
Nature is music to my eyes.
Nature is a painting to my ears.
Gemstones set deep in cerulean skies,
Whose beauty does expand my tears.
If I can hear the wooded sights,
If I can see the forest sound,
Then I could feel nature ignite,
And the love in me would abound.
The melodies play on pointed rays
Of sun-streaked beauty everywhere.
Seeing musical notes in nature's days,
Does play for me the symphony fair.
The painted canvas in me does hear
The strokes of a brushing breeze.
As color of the trees do paint on ear,
And melt the sounds with those of seas.
With lines of music for the eyes,
And brushing hues to tone the ears,
Nature softens every natural rise,
And sings her songs as she endears.
Dakota Balmore © 8-2-97
