Tag Archive: nature poem


Nataraja

800px-An_ephemeral_waterfall

 

Their lives are cast in shadows,

 

They who will not see you,

 

You who no one knows,

 

Not hearing your voice in the grass, talking,

 

Or in the pale wintry call

 

Of the tern,

 

Not hearing your voice of ashes,

 

Unaware of your presence in the flames

 

Of the waters that run,

 

That turn over the stones.

 

Still there is only you,

 

No one else anywhere,

 

You who stand behind all;

 

Within all.

 

With only a billion names

 

You are one.

 

In the night soul of the forest, oaken,

 

In the stalking

 

Of the insistent leopard,

 

In the power of the sea, cresting

 

Blue,

 

In the word

 

Of the wind that so long wandered

 

By the bleak

 

Runes.

 

Now there dawns the dancer in the sky overhead,

 

About whom none may speak,

 

And nothing may be said,

 

Not ever spoken.

 

There rise the flames of the names,

 

Unbroken,

 

Standing still by the tall

 

Reeds in the lake of the sun,

 

Hearing your voice in all the rains

 

That ever were,

 

Singing.

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2018

 

Photo: Vince Reinhart/“This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.”/Wikipedia/ Waterfall on the Chagrin River, Ohio

 

The Rain

113186375 Michael Chatt : dreamstime.com

 

In a portent of misted beauty

 

The rain-wandering hawk

 

Awakens

 

The sleeping

 

Mother of the mountains

 

To ring the standing

 

Bowls of silence

 

There since

 

Before the wings of time took flight,

 

And in ringing, to empower

 

The wild places;

 

The trees, her children,

 

Blossom gold;

 

Bumblebees run races,

 

The stars sail

 

Their tall wooden ships

 

On the bobbing waves of the black, deep sea.

 

Will the antlered elk remain,

 

Even then,

 

Along with the swift falcon,

 

And the barred geese

 

Who rode so bravely

 

Near the fierce night

 

Of the wrath of the wind

 

And biting hail

 

Where the embattled sky

 

Flashed

 

White, unpinned,

 

And armies of air

 

Clashed

 

From outcrop to rocky hill

 

Echoing

 

Echoing

 

Where the old owl blinks?

 

In the aftermath, gray-gowned, shy

 

Rain beings fly by

 

On blue

 

Petals;

 

The band of geese settles

 

On the lapping lake, recalling

 

All the stone-stepped eons told

 

In the unfolding stories – or a leaf-borne tale

 

By the rocks that talk,

 

Voices of the dark red canyons,

 

Of the grass and plants, wind-whispering

 

Of the juniper-guardians

 

Of the all-knowing bear,

 

Of the small-footed mouse, smiling and meek,

 

And the so determined ants.

 

There the rattlesnake slinks.

 

Now only the wise ones who

 

Know the starry ways, by most forgotten,

 

Who tend the earth, will gather

 

Again,

 

Their songs to sing

 

Like the soaring sea,

 

In the bright land of the moon –

 

Gentle as the rain that drips

 

Among the sleeping flowers

 

Of the stars. Now all is connected in these most final holy

 

Hours

 

As it was before the beginning,

 

One in many,

 

Many in one,

 

And if we train

 

Our attention for a moment,

 

Soon,

 

As the gale is done,

 

We will

 

Find the one we seek

 

Standing by the silver tree,

 

Near the old

 

Railed fence

 

Speckled in sunlight.

 

Hear beyond the rivers’ torrent

 

The chant of Om,

 

The lost bells of home.

 

Thank you, blessed rain.

 

Thank you, Parvathi,

 

Ever there, peace

 

Falling

 

On the star-clad mountain peak.

 

 © Sharon St Joan, 2018

Photo: 113186375 © Michael Chatt / dreamstime.com

dreamstime_xs_122429856

 

Do you know the way

That leads to the stream

In the early morning,

Where spotted fawns

Run,

Letting shining droplets fall

From their silver hooves

Like the last shreds of moonlight,

While the owl in the wild oak

Tree shuts her feathered eyes to sleep

At dawn, opening the door of the dream

To a universe of wonder,

In the star-bespeckled sky?

Or else, maybe you might know the way

To where the bright

Grass bends in the cold north wind

And the bison

Rumble by

On nimble feet

Across the wide, flat

Plain, and there

The wolves

Forever run

To greet

The spiraling snow on a white and wintry day?

Or perhaps you might even know

The way to the deep

Sheltering forest where the bear

Waits out with her cubs the hours

Of the squall,

Of crackling thunder

Near the hillside of peace where wildflowers

Cast in a trance

The bumblebee,

And the clay

By the riverbank holds up the saplings,

While dragonflies flit

And execute their wise dance

Of joy?

You see we were looking for the way out –

Out from the cinders swirling,

Out from the center, come all unpinned,

From the ashes of history gone awry

That prophetic ravens rue,

From the sting

Of bitter smoke,

Out into the clear sun-

Begotten waterfall that

Shimmers all the way

Down on to the rocks

Of granite

On to the foundation blocks

Where all the worlds begin anew?

Where is the way,

Narayana,

You who ever walked as a young boy

On the wandering waves of the eternal sea,

In the star-born mists of all the dawns

That ever were or are to be?

Where is the way,

Narayana,

Where is the way

To find the light of your lands

That sing the song of the soul in the sounding sea?

 

 

©Sharon St Joan, 2018

Photo: ID 122429856© Syberyjczyk/ Dreamstime.com

 

edited,ID 71782566 © Juliscalzi | dreamstime_xs_71782566

 

Garuda,

 

How

 

Do you fly

 

On swift, gold wings,

 

Not having any answers?

 

You live in peace, always, among

 

The saffron petals, beyond the crowded questions

 

Sailing through all the mist-

 

Driven worlds sung

 

By the ancient forest,

 

Abode

 

Of stars and falcons,

 

Near the clear, deep-canyoned waters

 

Where step the blue-toed cranes,

 

Where ran

 

The wind in wild-haired leaves of the cottonwood tree.

 

You are the heart given by eternity.

 

Within, you bear the spirit of God.

 

You are the dawn, the sky

 

That rained,

 

The dream-walking dragonflies that nod,

 

And the speaking of the mountains that rose up and waned

 

Before ever time began,

 

You who carry

 

The sacred essence of all things

 

In the clouds that tarry,

 

In the flashing lights of the moon and the bright summer rains,

 

Garuda, you who are wandering ever, even now,

 

On your wings of wind-swept beauty.

 

 

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2018

 

Photo: Juliscalzi | dreamstime.com

 

 

 

 

 

ID 4545510 © Dbpetersen | Dreamstime

 

Listen, and hear

 

Within the moon the silent flight

 

Of white

 

Crane

 

Feathers,

 

While stars ring like bells in a sky of snow.

 

Did you know

 

That the moon is hollow

 

And it chimes?

 

Now, past clouds of bitter rain,

 

Of weathers

 

Sullen in the jagged wind,

 

At a sharp bend in the long road,

 

Shines the light of butterfilies beyond the shards of the dark,

 

The spark

 

Of grace, as yet unimagined,

 

A hand of tree bark

 

Offers peace, abhaya mudra: “Fear

 

Not,” a message,

 

Seek and ye

 

Shall find

 

All truth

 

Within the call

 

Of the star, cloaked in a misted shawl.

 

Soon, between the bones of yesteryear

 

Rise the rushing waters to the ridge

 

Of ending times.

 

There at the top of the narrow stair

 

Opens the rock-enchanted desert that will echo eternity,

 

Shimmering stones,

 

Who

 

Sing that the shadow

 

Has gone, though it is not that the shadow

 

Has gone, but just that the sun is real and the shadow not, after all,

 

And so

 

The holy one, unknown, will walk again on the straight path,

 

Will hold the innocent deer high in his hand

 

(In the land

 

Of the gold dragon who gnashes

 

Her emerald jaw,

 

Extending her five-toed

 

Paw)

 

There the brave one walks, placing the sun anew,

 

Engulfing the burning cities of the mind,

 

And – casting death at last behind,

 

Cleanses the earth of ashes.

 

 

Poem: © Sharon St Joan, 2017

Photo: © Dbpetersen | Dreamstime

 

 

 

Mahadeva

© Jsuspence7cc | Dreamstime

 

Ender of worlds, you who are

 

The moon-winged light

 

Glimpsed through silver clouds that recall only

 

The music

 

Of the rain

 

That hums

 

On the dry branches of the scrub oak,

 

You who are the soul

 

Of the juniper trees and the wind-waving sage,

 

Re-awaken now your lands of magic,

 

And so,

 

Unmask the deeper, greener forest

 

Of long ago,

 

Abode of the forgotten fairy folk.

 

Young Ganesha watches from among the red-encircled blossoms

 

To hear anew

 

The clear

 

Ringing chimes

 

Sound, that the dust of a crumbled age

 

Is gone,

 

Swept away and cast

 

Asunder

 

On the gusts of the great

 

Gale,

 

That peace may settle ever after

 

On the blue-

 

Belled petals

 

That gather in an opalescent bowl,

 

A glimmering, crystal grail,

 

Far

 

Beyond where the ragged hulls of iron ships

 

Were set adrift on a tired sea.

 

Soon the haloed star

 

May bless the night,

 

And the coyote

 

Sing her laughing song again

 

In the darkness, beside the shimmering gate

 

Of a time beyond times

 

When

 

At last

 

The long-toed crane

 

Dips his beak

 

Into the cold waters of the creek.

 

Then,

 

Mahadeva, Shining One, Dispeller of fear,

 

May the swans, who know, and have always known, all things, sail

 

Ever near

 

Before the bright, sky-clad boat of the dawn

 

Climbs

 

On through the echoing waters of a many lilied mist.

 

© Sharon St Joan, August 2017

Photo: © Jsuspence7cc | Dreamstime

 

 

 

 

Years of snow

cliffs-in-snow-one

 

Years of snow

 

 

Rains unspoken.

 

Do you remember

 

Diaphanous wings

 

Who knew only the mist

 

Through many–stranded years of snow

 

On the hill

 

Of the ringed dolmen,

 

The omniscient crow

 

Who hid high

 

In the sky-

 

Tossed towers,

 

In the moss-meandering forest

 

Of the great bear?

 

That was the world then,

 

The reality,

 

The flowers

 

Of dawn,

 

The eternity,

 

Emerald rings

 

Of the sycamore tree.

 

Gone,

 

Gone on the smoke over the brown hill.

 

Who now will bring

 

The buckets of songs and all the laughter,

 

Faint, so far

 

Away, yet ever near?

 

Where?

 

In the opalescent eyes

 

That peer

 

Through

 

Deep-green bowers,

 

Who

 

Know

 

Only the mist,

 

Only the flight

 

Of the dawn-winged petals,

 

Undaunted,

 

That settle

 

On the lake-footed land where

 

The goose plays still

 

With her snow-bright

 

Children,

 

Her flock that sings

 

Beneath a star

 

Cluster,

 

All the while, when

 

Blue-

 

Sailed ships

 

Slip

 

Into the shining seas of the night,

 

Ineffable, haunted.

 

 

© Sharon St Joan, text and photo, 2016

 

 

 

matabum-dreamstime_xs_58438808

 

Green-winged sight

 

Born of sea-

 

Water, boundless.

 

A sun’s ray,

 

True,

 

Wind of sands.

 

To see the graceful stone-lit lands

 

Beyond the grumbling darkness,

 

To find the moon who spoke

 

Beyond the black, billowing smoke,

 

To never turn away,

 

To ride,

 

Through the night

 

Until the geese call in the first light,

 

To dance

 

In the unsung mystery

 

Of juniper trees that bend

 

Atop the cliffs, harrowing,

 

By the wandering sea

 

Of green translucence,

 

To walk on through storms that whip,

 

That wend

 

Their way along the mountain tip,

 

To go

 

Straight into the wind’s breath

 

Of the tiger’s night,

 

Into the widening

 

Jaws of death,

 

Into the mist,

 

Of the blue

 

Dawn at the farthest

 

Edge of the forest,

 

Before time awoke

 

Is ever to follow

 

The son of the wind, unfaltering,

 

Into the brave beauty

 

Of his song, unending,

 

Swan-bright.

 

© Sharon St Joan, September 2016

 

Photo: © Matabum / dreamtime.com

Coyote

 

© Dhprophotog | Dreamstime.comdreamstime_s_40757480

 

Coyote, with mystical toes,

 

Silent as the footsteps of time,

 

Weaving through the mist-encircled forest,

 

Elusive she goes,

 

Shaman, angel, fey,

 

Spirit from the lands afar,

 

Outcaste, magic-bent,

 

Otherworldly guide,

 

You step from stone to stone,

 

Through the stream, moon-bright,

 

Where blue-singing

 

Fish glide

 

Through petals whispering in the night.

 

From milky way,

 

From star to star,

 

Among the clouds,

 

The shrouds,

 

Of worlds, broken.

 

You walk on,

 

Nose-intent,

 

From the darkness to the light.

 

You climb

 

The hillside

 

Where rocks ponder and raven-spoken

 

Rains ride

 

On moon-painted winds among the echoing

 

Songs of spring.

 

© Sharon St Joan, 2016

 

Photo: © Dhprophotog | Dreamstime.com

 

 

© Weblogiq | Dreamstime.com

 

Where do the wind beings live?

 

Beyond the noon-

 

Bright country,

 

Beyond the stars, glimmering,

 

Beyond the tired, trafficked city,

 

Unencumbered, they live in the mountains that give

 

Peace, among the lilies of eternity,

 

By the wandering white petals of the moon

 

In the forest of flowers where

 

Only the wild ones talk

 

And where the wind beings walk

 

By the shell-encrusted shore,

 

There the red-tailed hawk

 

And the northern harrier,

 

Gray as the sea,

 

Fly through the air,

 

To reclaim their destiny,

 

In lands swept clean of the paltry ploy

 

Of thought,

 

And the detritus of crumpled litter

 

Of the corrupted that crawl

 

In the grime

 

Of the sound-dinned

 

Corners of the mind, strangely-wrought.

 

Arise, Hanuman,

 

Son of the wind,

 

To toss

 

Aside all the devils of time,

 

To unseat the wicked, wailing,

 

To thunder

 

Across

 

The waves, ever-crashing

 

Of the sparkling, emerald sea

 

Of nevermore,

 

To lead all soon

 

Back to where the wind beings live

 

In joy,

 

Among the rain-blackened rocks where

 

Only ever call

 

The dark ravens of light, sea-echoing.

 

 

Written June 12, 2016, © Sharon St Joan

 

Photo: © Weblogiq | Dreamstime.com