J-i-poetry - Simple Poetry Blog

My futile attempt to find nature

I start with parks,

Unassuming grassy expanses

Rimmed with palms, perhaps

With a pond or playground

I graduate to preserves

Larger ponds, sometimes with

Geese, always with ducks

I walk along its paved paths

Or rocky byways, but I

Run into the road

The sounds of cars inescapable

Beyond the quacks and honks

And rustling of untrimmed mesquites

I try a "hike", more of a

Stroll through the stones of a

Great, holey hill

I lose track of my impromptu

Guides, so I take the easy route

It leads to he canal, another

Reminder of man's hubris in the

Desert biome I now call home

I was born to a land of true wilds,

Of old growth forests protected by

Fences, yes, but standing proud, uncut

I was born to hills, and creeks, and

Bushes bursting with black berries,

Counting the stars on a clear night,

Camping in the back yard,

Craning our necks to watch deer

And woodpeckers working

To hear bats screech under the new moon

I sit on a plastic bench, molded like wood

I watch men fish at stocked ponds,

I hope the sounds of motorcycles

Doesn't scare their catch,

But these creatures are likely as

Trained to the sounds as the grackles

Are to rooting through trash

I pray that the little natures around me

Remain un-golfed, and undeveloped

That the canal can yet give rest to cormorants,

That the bougainvilleas can shelter the sparrows,

That what little respect my new home has

For its many gifts can yet be preserved,

For the sake of the hikers, the birds,

The saguaros, even the God-given rocks

I pray for all of these things with my one

Little soul, with all the nature within,

Though futile my tiny words may be

To the unrelenting force of mankind's

Unending greed and craving for more,

More, more

Drown In It

Cycles

Per Amor Ad Astra

Take only photos, leave only footprints,

The mantra of the visitor

To nature's stoop.

We tread lightly on our mother's carpet,

The grass or soil or sand deforms

Under shoe or sole.

We watch as our cousins trot or sway or chirp

As our brother sets on the horizon,

Brilliant and silent.

Together are we on our little world, starstuff all.

As much of the ground or sky

As we are each other.

Watch as the stars rearrange themselves,

See the passing of eras, young ones,

Rise to your feet and behold.

The joys of just opening a window

affirmations

i am a complex organism brutally engineered by uncaring forces of nature

i am a product of billions of years and trillions of deaths

i am building a machine greater than myself

i am able to make phone calls and appointments

Bad Seed

the quietude of things, tathev simonyan

windows open season. waking up to birdsong season. smelling the dewy grass season. twirling in a long skirt season. life feels worth living again season. taking all of my meals outside of possible season. reasoning how far I can get by bike ride and pedaling out anyway season.

I write poetry on the bus because it's my only free time

Sleeping in and breakfast

Shower and coffee

Not necessarily in that order

Walking to the bus

Walking from the bus

Working

Working

Working

Sometimes sitting down,

Sometimes working

Walking to the bus

Walking from the bus

*

Cooking

Gazing into the abyss

Screaming into the void

YouTube

Sleeping

*Optional (but not so):

Migraine, Joint pain, Irritability, Talking