Wet stone

The ancient eavesdropper

A worm wriggles
through a loophole
escaping the
early bird.

Singing inside
a skunk cabbage
amphitheater —
a chorus frog’s
song carries
the swamp.

An owl’s screech
pierces the heart
of darkness.

My mind
wound tight
as a guitar string —
playing music
only I know
the words to —
I sing my anthem
in soulful silence.

Rainfall triggers
a stampede of newts —
their rough skin scraping
like sandpaper on wood.

Rain-soaked lawn
flowers yawn awake
and worms renew
their bodies in mud baths.

Lost in song
the drab sparrow
colors my world.

under a
storm cloud —
feeling the
hard rain
wash away
my inhibitions —
readymade as
the puddles
at my feet.

A tree leans
into the wind —
tempered wood.

Branching out
with gnarled digits —
an ancient oak 
palms the sky.

Pink plum petals
plaster the pavement
Spring’s impetus.

In the saddle

View original post 27 more words

About tyler4turtles

I am an avid photographer, poet, ecologist, bookworm, blogger, art enthusiast and runner who calls Montana home but lives in Oregon.
This entry was posted in Nature. Bookmark the permalink.

15 Responses to Wet stone

  1. Just reading your poem brings a feeling of calm.


    • Thank you, my friend! You are so kind & thoughtful…I’m glad my poem soothed your soul 🙂 Happy first day of Spring…may you rejoice in many splendored greens! Have a wonderful week, Janet 🙂

  2. Carrie Birde says:

    Each piece is singularly and deeply felt; but together they chorus “Spring”!

  3. hugr5 says:

    I like that last line, regarding the mind, guitar and the music only you know the words to… that is a good way to say it!

  4. denise0904 says:

    like a bouquet of little verses, beautiful

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