In the Spirit of Thoreau Poetry

Nature's Open House

The trail ahead opened like a wide door, inviting me into its space.

My senses perked up immediately.

Views of tall trees, low brushes, grasses, fallen logs, and wild flowers greeted me.

I sniffed something sweet in the air, a scent so delectable I could almost taste it.

A multitude of birds created a canopy of melodic songs that cheered me.

My path led to a serene pond, its peace interrupted momentarily by a pair of loud honking geese gently gliding in for a landing. The dichotomy of sight and sound amused me.

The trail entered the woods again, where I was surprised by a soft bed of pine needles cushioning my feet on the rocky path. It was a nice feeling.

The winding trail eventually ended where it began. I walked out, past the entrance, sated in my senses and refreshed for the day.

-- Ruth Cooperrider, Urbandale

My Haiku

Observing the world
from minute to majestic - 
Henry D. Thoreau

-- Lillian Robinson, Blue Earth, MN

A Natural Transition

Fleeting thoughts attack and crash in unfocused American minds. 

Nagging lists of multitasks, 
pangs of political anxiety, 
and spasms of fake news flash across rectangular screens.

Vicious overwhelm nibbles on humanity’s soul
and encircles its nervous system like a crazed cowboy’s lasso.

Hearts are certainly working overtime,
pounding out the maladaptive rhythm of modern life. 

Is quiet desperation the only way to live? 

Open the senses to April, May, and sunny June - a supple and soothing choice.

Chirping companions with feathers feed their newborns.
Turtles emerge from hibernation in search of sunny days. 
A baby bison trails after her mother in a green field. 

Heart rates slow: inhale and exhale. 
Breathing becomes deep and steady. 

Nagging lists of multitasks are carried away 
on a spring wind 
never to be seen again. 

-- Lori Runkle, Ankeny

Pebble Eyes

If I get to look in your river pebble eyes
For all the rest of my time here
I will be at peace in a way 
That I have never been at in all my years

If I only get to hold a memory of that gaze
Then I will joyously carry it in my heart
To bring out and contemplate 
Knowing you are making inroads on a new start 

-- Brenda Petersen, Nevada

Thinking like Thoreau?

My wife and I joke, only partly, that one of our hobbies is moving things. Stuff, food, clothes. Sometimes moving things from point A to point B and then back to point A. I look at all the things that we move and sometimes wonder, "why". So much futility. Animals are smarter than that, aren't they? During a walk in Jester Park, someone sees a dead caddisfly, flat on the trail. An ant is pulling desperately, futilely, on the tail. I drop to my hands and knees, watching the circus. Where could an ant be wanting to move the dead insect? After writing this above, I look at my hand and notice that the pencil I'm using to write with is stealing the heat from my hand and changing from purple to pink. I bet Henry David Thoreau did not have a color-changing pencil.

-- Kevin Wright, Granger

Peace

The sun shining brightly 
turning the blue water into a mirror 
Light filtering through the leaves 
Dancing fairies in the air
Clouds floating on the water
Am I up there or down here

Bright green grass a soft cushion under my feet
Cool earth supporting my toes
Digging deeper into the dirt
Releasing all the hurt

Falling softly onto the earth 
Sighing softly
I am here 
Wishing I can feel this peace after here

-- Anonymous 

My Tanka

Among his many
skills was pencil-making, which
he put to good use
as he recorded thousands
of thoughts and millions of words

-- Lillian Robinson, Blue Earth, MN