Mood Clash

Nature

 

 

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Moment of Bliss

 

I'm swathed in velvet silence, silken, smooth,

with silver rippled monograms of dawn

amidst the pine, where breezes poised to soothe

me with a lover's secrets are withdrawn

by jealous deities who choose to press

against my ears the hum of centuries

of woodland meditations. But they bless

me with this stillness, with the panoplies

of spellbound apparitions in the leaves,

and smoke suspended by an artist's brush,

and feathered coteries that one perceives

as whimsy till a strident cry and rush

of wings reveals the bane of their caprice

to be the shattered fragments of my peace.

 

 

 

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And Brief Is Life

 

With secrets rustling through the winter oak

and echoes on primeval forest floor

come palpitating rains. A thunderstroke

foretells the waiting fiery metaphor

of dastardly Promethean bequest:

the earth convulsing in a flaming gasp,

then crumbling dry, like mysteries suppressed

in ancient tombs. But chilling breezes grasp

the aftermath with glowering lament,

the sleet lays willow switches on my face,

and scowling swirls of white in swift descent

defy the weary huntress to embrace

her tumbling cubs before the bitter cold

enhances black of night a thousandfold.

 

 

 

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Summer Whim

 

A leafy rustling, cooling scents from breeze-

borne pine, a perfumed breath and calming voice,

earth's keeper with her child. I feel at ease

beneath a silv'ry canopy, my choice

for shelter from the fiery brilliant white

expanse, while gangs of glitter trickle through

the clotted overgrowth in hurried flight,

avoiding timbered hands to rendezvous

on mossy paths. And now the whispering

recedes, a dullish humming monotone

assails my ears, a steamy glowering

is pressing me to earth like heavy stone.

So on and on the daylight's vagaries,

till weary witness nightfall might appease.

 

 

 

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Autumn Palette

 

The flirting winds slap dryly at my face,

as silver scatterings of daylight slip

and stutter through the arbor to embrace

my acclamations, in companionship

with crimson hosts deflecting tingly bits

of warming on my skin. Faint rustlings stir

the forest floor - a forager emits

directives in a fuss of chirp and fur.

The musky pathway seeks communion with

wild pinks and purples, roaming rods of gold,

all spilled in starry tales of ancient myth

when Flora, bearing gifts, was first cajoled.

And I'm a shadow on a charmed abode,

a will-o-wisp upon a wishing road.

 

 

 

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Winter Moment

 

The silent flakes of snow, like dainty white-

winged creatures dogged in their frenzied quest

to join as one, unerringly alight

upon my path, as if at my behest.

The odor, sweet, of burning maple curls

through thick'ning flurry walls; a wolflike whine

betrays the gale arising as it swirls

and bullies through the tips of stubborn pine.

The cabin beckons me; a dullish light

prepares me for a welcome interlude

of warmth and sustenance, an age-old rite,

an intercourse of fire and solitude.

The wintry pomp and bluster need not cease,

for in my womblike refuge I'm at peace.

 

 

 

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Spring Awakening

 

The sulking landscape, brittle, dreary, stained

with litter like an airless alleyway,

ignites in fleeting brilliance, as if deigned

by Phoebus that the heavens might display

a pencil-shaded hint of virgin green

as prelude to a symphony of change.

In sudden rustlings playful sprites convene

in chatty complement to rearrange

their homestead; and a prankish sparrow swoons

and darts and teases; and the scheming wind,

whose grudging bitter grip, in rasping tunes

through weary pine, will balm of spring rescind,

transcends the season's lingering affair

by lifting faint hosannas to the air.

 

 

 

 

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Forever Rain

 

A grayish day,

and a droplet dizzies my dust-weary window

in a tiny spectrum of smirking light;

 

cheery life-giver,

it soon shrivels to shadow,

as it has a thousand times before:

 

once beaded in a crooked path

on the gritty sinew inching a boulder

toward an emperor's fancy;

 

once the pinkish spray

from the master's lash

on a pulsing swell of boyish flesh;

 

once the earthy last scent

of a moonscape furrow

in a plowman's droughted field;

 

once the dewy glisten

blurring a wizened squaw's last look

at sacred hunting grounds.

 

Returning,

each of them now,

in the mist before my eyes,

to live again,

to pass away,

to live again.

 

 

 

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Storm

 

Entombed in silence, airless woodland, time and I must wait

to be restored, as intonations of eternity

that pulse against my ears engage the past, a tete-a-tete

with present moments catatonic and portentously

uncertain of their path, and daunted by a barricade

of stillness. Stillness. Then a breath, a stirring in the pine,

seductive cooing by the lofty spruce that serenade

me with sirenic woodwinds, piping, pining, subtle whine

of breezes with a swag and stutter, an impatient pause,

then ever faster, orchestrating a disharmony

of startled motion, slapping at the wind as if applause

were coarsely celebrating some coniferous esprit

for boughs unburdened of the stifling calm; and then a veil

of perspiration settles on the active arborland,

and dart-like droplets in neurotic starts and fits impale

me to the ground in cringing protest to their reprimand,

and from the melancholy heavens plummet raucous sheets

of water, rushing, blustering amidst spasmodic flares

of white, with anguished bellows, as a vengeful god excretes

his versicolored venoms in magnificent affairs

of silver, shock, and shatterings, symphonic souvenirs

polyphonously patterned in designs of Providence,

until in sizzling smoky plumes the forest disappears

beneath a rage that renders impotent my every sense.

 

 

 

 

 

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An Occurrence in the Woods

 

Upon a once delightful time, when I, abiding by a sylvan sigh of sycamore and pine,

contrived to pass upon my neighborland in scholarly repose,

I chanced to happen on a curious component of the wilds, at once buffoonish and benign,

a squirrel aslumber, tummy dumpling plump, a nutmeat at its nose.

 

"Upon my word," spoke I, "how still you lie, malformed aboard a rolling hoard of hickory delights,

content to ornament an oaken door, quite indisposed to move;

for all your cousins, scores and dozens, fill the forest, ever tending unrelenting appetites,

while you preponderate in plenty, more than Eden would behoove."

 

"Upon my pappy's scraggly stern," said he, "you seem to be, cerebrally, simplistic to assess,"

as he commenced a roll in troubled tones to loftier terrain;

"I spurn this piteous portrayal of my rodentry, to wit, my kith and kindred in distress,

all fur and flurry, sniffing fervidly for unbegotten gain.

 

"Upon my well-provided bastion I will gladly glut on butternuts and sweetmeats of success,

and I will wax the night resplendent in celestial silhouette;

for as the progeny of honor I'm decidedly entitled to the gatherers' largesse,

and I am pleased to sip the nectar of their sacrificial sweat."

 

Upon the gusty culmination of his lordly rant, he huffed and panted, turning on his tail

in proud retreat in sluggish sweep into the shadowy inside;

and I sat quietly amused, and quite convinced that I was party to a miscreantic tale

by which no member of a more developed species could abide.

 

 

 

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Contact:  paul@moodclash.org