Category: the natural world

Animals and the earth, mistical nature poem, the natural world

Mother Owl

by sharonstjoan5 Comments on Mother Owl
barn owl perched on tree
Photo by DSD on Pexels.com

Singing stars, of galaxies long

Gone,

Or soon

To be – or still to become.

Mother Owl

Who watches over her offspring,

Hears the odd, rustling songs of the night,

She seeks deep notes to hum,

Calling all the angels into existence,

And will sing

The night along,

Having created encircled lands and islands,

Nights where the fierce howl

Of the wolf of electric fur,

Who would prowl

Along the diamond-enchanted snow,

Tiptoes

Under the sky,

Sent

To bring into being the waves that reach the far rocks

On the ice-riven

Sandbars;

The Owl gathers all the threads, the strands

Of day and night,

With which to build her

Holy nest,

All the stories ever told,

And all the rest,

All the arrows that light

The way.

Mother Owl,

Of ringed mists, dark and gray,

Queen of all, author of being,

Purveyor of the sunset and the arctic flight –

Where now fly the flocks

Of geese

That unfold

In the black sphere, white-winged,

Where the friends of the night still

Watch and remember?

Mother Owl, essence of meaning,

Bringer of peace,

When

Will you fly,

To re-imagine all the worlds that are to be again

In the cool spring of the twinkling brook

Within the mists of the moon,

Within the mountain of the mystic dawn

Of yesteryear?

After a wise look –

The clear-singing Owl,

Steps upon the branch half-bent,

Takes flight

Across the star-gowned

Night,

Through light rains blessed

And gladly given,

Drifting down.

© Copyright, Sharon St Joan, 2024

sacred earth, the natural world

Where are we among the happenings in the world?

by sharonstjoan3 Comments on Where are we among the happenings in the world?

By Sharon St Joan

We do not need to drown in the sorrows of the world – or be angry – or disconsolate.

a cormorant perched on a tree stump near the lake
Photo by Siegfried Poepperl on Pexels.com

We can take a walk in the woods.

At this time in our world, it may be possible, as always, to be aware of the universal transcendent presence of peace, beauty, grace, courage, dignity.

It may not be possible for us at this precise moment – if we have just experienced a personal tragedy – or witnessed the profound pain of others.

But, unless this is, for you, one of those profoundly tragic moments in life (though often even then) – then it is still possible today to be aware that – beyond the horrors of this world – beyond the blood-soaked terrors of the news on TV – beyond our own personal pain that may sometimes come by for an uninvited visit –– it may still be possible, no matter what feelings we are caught up in – to encounter a moment of profound transcendence – profound peace.

There may yet be a startling moment when we are aware of the Presence of God. These days, we are supposed to call God something else – the “Universe”, for example – as if God were embarrassed to be called God.

Mostly, we have a choice – if we prefer not to be bothered with God, that’s just fine. There are many other things we can read instead of this.

On the other hand, there are those among us who cannot avoid glimpsing the profound beauty of the universe. This vision comes upon us maybe unexpectedly – a glimpse of the splendor of the night sky or the grace of a deer running through the forest. Or the sense that we have never been without the Friend who has aways been there with us.

Especially in nature it is very hard to be unaware of the profound beauty all around us — the delicate lace of the tree branches. The glow of the petals of the sunset. The sound of the little stream rushing by.

It is hard not to sense the overwhelming power of eternity, of love, of the infinite – not to be aware of the intense presence of Grace.

So, when wild birds sing to you, when the snow sparkles in the arctic cold, when an invisible Presence walks with you – you are blessed. The ultimate reality is the presence of God.

© Copyright, Sharon St Joan, 2023

the Americas, the natural world, Wild birds

Mourning dove

by sharonstjoan2 Comments on Mourning dove
close up shot of a dove
Photo by Tina Nord on Pexels.com

The mourning dove

Ambles along

Unhindered by the knotted cares of

A world run astray.

Only the wind

Speaks to her

And the great sky

Above,

Where the blue dove

Smiles,

Wreathed in bells of sunlight,

Their light

Falls on ancient stone sundials,

That foretell

The times that are

And yet to be.

Then only the earth-lit rains follow after

That sing

Their song

Of lilting laughter,

That drizzle down quiet afternoons.

Only the peace

Of the presence of Eternity.

The unraveling mystery of the runes.

Overhead fly the geese

Of spring

And the white butterfly

Who flits, twinkling,

Among the sage brush dancing

Gently in the wind,

Their stems still gray

From the length

Of the snowing days

Of winter.

Out of emptiness climbs

Strength,

While the tall cliff anchors time

And in the creek below,

The minnow

Flits on by,

Silver-finned.

The dove takes flight,

Wings whistling

Into the unknown,

Alone, yet not alone,

With her crowds of brothers and sisters,

Where the juniper trees gather

Under the wings of spring,

In the brave winds –

Singing.

© Copyright Sharon St Joan, 2023

By Cindy Knoke, nature's designs, the natural world

Wasteland Wakened~ —

by sharonstjoan1 Comment on Wasteland Wakened~ —

The Sonoran Desert in Southern California, is bursting in bloom! Rains continue into May in the desert which is unheard of. Note the people midway up the mountain to give you perspective on the scope of of the superbloom which cover many mountains. Blooming Brittlebush carpet the foothills in vibrant yellow blankets. This bloom in…

Wasteland Wakened~ —
Poems, Tales of India, the natural world

The far-glimmering hill

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on The far-glimmering hill
silhouette of tree under half moon
Photo by Adrian Lang on Pexels.com

India

Forest,

Rock stone lake,

Red cliff flowers on the road to the moon;

Tracks run into the curled sea of Malta,

Where the wind songs break.

Back then

There were many obelisks, all

Bright and speaking –

Not like today

When

The smoke whispers only

Sad tales of decrepitude,

And there are no beings singing

In the clouds,

Only shrouds

Of emptiness.

When

Will the gray

Seagulls return

On wings of yesteryear,

On dreams not yet forgotten?

When will the spirits, imbued

With magic, fly up through

The night mists –

Rain-hissed?

Having slept,

The cobra

Rocked from side to side,

Friend of Narayana,

From the sea-green tide,

Alert, considering

Where to slither next,

Ancient being,

The one

Who used to ride among the stars,

Ancestor of many,

Who writes his text

On sandbars,

Ocean-swept.

Long ago

Then

Legends lived of hero

And saint

And those wiser than us by far.

There

Were crowds

Of bumblebees who count the stars.

Even now, doorways go

From the cavern

In the lake

To the mystic palaces of the tall

Wandering beings

Who still hear

The tales of centuries long slipped away,

Their shadow-light faint

Beyond the sea.

When will the time come then?

Soon

After the smoke of the fire has spewed

Down the valley

Will there arise

At last the moment of

Wildflowers, wandering moths, butterflies,

And little ones

With deep black eyes

And strange smiles of kindness?

There

Where

The wind sighs

Still

In the tall pines

And the bright moon

Shines

High

Above

The far-glimmering

Hill.

© Copyright Sharon St Joan 2023