Wednesday, February 1, 2017

RAINING GLORY...


[ * There are 19 pieces of writing on the mystical path in this blog: essays, articles and poems.
The "blog archive" or Table of Contents is located below the tall, narrow image at left.

Click on a white triangle to open it. * ]



‘RAINING GLORY
and other poems of

Nature Nurture

Text and Images
(c) Copyright 2018 by Neall Calvert

Stormy-weather Parasailer, Comox Bay, Canada

           



RAINING GLORY

Rain spattering
     the tin trailer roof overhead
          falls on my soul,
               taps on my door, says May I

Drop in on you,
     get to know you?
          Wet you with transparent wisdom?
               Wash something clear?

Before I knocked, I journeyed
     that heaven you thirst after
          in the eyes of strangers.
               Bloom the desert spaces
                    of your mind
                         . . . in me.











Gold River, Vancouver Island, Canada


YOU MOUNTAINS THERE!

You mountains there—
high blue ridges stepped back
into mists, embracing the valley floor:
Hear me: I am lost, empty
and always flying away to Cloudland.

You mountains there—
brothers! Embrace me.
Under evening’s soft, drifting ceiling
ground my migrant essence.
Invoke tears—anything! Hold me
till I have to leave you . . . till I’m filled
with your inexhaustible

        earthbound

                eternity! . . .

Hold me
till I have to leave you . . . till I’m filled
with your inexhaustible

        earthbound

                eternity!











Elk Falls Prov. Park, Campbell River, BC

IN THE FOREST

In the forest, beneath draped green cedars
gnarly, brittle twigs break underfoot,
an irreversible snap rustling
dun-coloured dried leaves
while eddying, murmuring air currents;
colossal rotting russet monoliths
still rising majestically
from the once-nourishing earth
they are now slowly feeding;
soldierly dead sentinels
machine-gunned by woodpeckers
standing silent and scarred with holes
as from a war; chirruping chickadees
and grey squirrels; and sky-tall conifers,
unwearied witnesses to the century’s
storms, morning mists or high snows
all illuminated today by streaming
life-sustaining sunlight—live
(and will end their lives)
as    one    vast    co-operative.

The forest neither seeks acceptance
nor shuns it; neither criticizes
nor puffs itself up; counts no failures
and no successes; tallies neither years
nor their seasons. This community, this teacher,
only whispers wordlessly:
              See how I live.










Courtyard, Campbell River Library, BC, Canada

SPRING—THE REAL THING

I am Spring, hear me well. I am
like a spring—uncoiling,
like a spring—a tumbling brook,
springing—leaping forth.

No second-hand season 
this year; centuries of cerebral renewals 
pale before the real thing—Spring—
in my bones, in my eyes, under my skin.

It’s my season now. I am pink
plum blossoms, delicate leaf buds, apple trees 
emerging from dormancy; I am
Earth tilting under the Sun!

This year, instead of eating the menu
I am savouring the meal
of unrestrained Nature—Spring—
abloom—in me.











Crow King in Vancouver, Canada


CROAKING, or CROW KING

In the city, caterwauling crows woke me
almost every morning . . . The sounds
of life, I tried to convince myself, but I could see
how someone would want to shoot them . . .
I moved closer to nature.

Heedless of property lines, down
from the telephone wires he came,
then regally, effortlessly, across my backyard grass,
a black-feathered potentate marched toward his goal:
a small water-filled hole in a concrete pad, meant
for a clothes-rack post.

Down into the rainwater went the shiny black beak.
Out it came and then—flawless, eons-old move!—
the handsome, night-coloured head lifted
and for three long seconds—three flowing
sacred seconds of natural monarchy—the liquid 
burbled down his throat.

In that moment he ruled his world
and I? . . . I surrendered to a king.

A murder of crows, the expression goes.
Today I died—a privilege.










High Water on Campbell River at Elk Falls, BC, Canada


R I V E R   L O V E

After yearning for decades
to say I love you and mean it, today
on my practised path by the Puntledge
I blurted I love you to rushing river, pines 
and sky and booming back came the chorus 
We love you too! from hosts of spirits 
whose celebration echoed till I sat 
and sobbed in surrender . . .
And when I was done they asked:
Did you think this refreshing stream of existence
would not receive your riverbank tears,
though there were enough, you believed,
to have forever altered its course? Effortlessly 

Our galaxies of galloping droplets 
absorb your longing, and in return  
gladly love you we dolong as this river runs
                                             . . . and longer too.












Lillooet Lake, BC, Canada     [by Anon]


AT LILLOOET
LAKE LODGE 

Beyond my cabin window,
far across calm waters,
last light effortlessly greens
vast forested mountainsides
as orange streamers arc across
a turquoise sky. Nearer, waves 
lap on shore mud, wind
rustles cottonwoods, a wood stove
surges with fire. The symphony
of disappearing day.

This morning
as I drove from the city
an inner voice astonished me,
compelled me to halt:  
Why do you worry so much?
—I am guiding you.

I was afraid if I became solitary
I would find nothing inside me,
but I’m full up—with poetry:
these words written
by oil-lamp’s glow.













Mohun Lake, near Campbell River, BC, Canada


POETS and CLOUDS

The poet acts as priest,
      step-down transformer,
translator of divine energies
      into human language, mediator 
between gods and men.

Clouds perform equivalent rites,
      balancing between heaven and earth,
but few know what holds up
      all that weight of water— 
or whether in fact it is being held down—
     or that, for the earthbound, 
chatting with a cumulus or two
      leads to a life with altitude.












                        FAMILY HAIKU

                      In their garden, Mother kneels to join
                           the entranced little boy; the tiny slithering snail
                           will also move into maturity.
 
                               











“I've never met a waterfall I didn’t like.” -N.C.
[ Waimoku Falls, Maui ]







1 comment: