MaineNaturePoetry

Happy Birthday To Mom

Acrostic Poetry - September 12, 2009:

(Unrhymed verse in which the letters of the topic are written vertically letter by letter, each of which is used to construct a phrase or a sentence that describes the topic.)

Barbara Jean:

Because she is my Mom, she is

Absolutely beautiful, as dazzling as a

Rose decked out in all its full-petaled glory.

Barbara Jean is her name, and she is the most

Awesome of mothers…caring, loving, and kind.

Resplendent is her smile and her laughter. She is the

Antithesis of lazy. Mom

Just goes, and goes, and goes…

Energy radiates from her entire being.

And, I love every inch of her. After all, she is my Mom.

No doubt about it!

Yearly Tribute to My Dad (lover of all things natural)

August 20, 2009 - Exerpt from “Under The Sea-Wind”, by Rachel Carson

I found a particularly descriptive and poetic passage in Rachel Carson’s book, Under The Sea-Wind, that I would like to share here. It is partly because of my father that I am so in love with the ocean, and find the deep sea so intriguing. Dad always made sure we had canoes and sailboats with which to explore the waters that lay near each place that we lived. I thank him for nurturing my curiosity of the natural world. Here is what Ms. Carson says about the abyss:

Below them lay the abyss, the primeval bed of the sea, the deepest of all the Atlantic. The abyss is a place where change comes slow, where the passing of the years has no meaning, nor the swift succession of the seasons. The sun has no power in those depths, and so their blackness is a blackness without end, or beginning, or degree. No beating of tropical sun on the surface miles above can lessen the black iciness of those abyssal waters that varies little through summer or winter, through the years that melt into centuries, and the centuries into ages of geologic time. Along the floor of the ocean basins, the currents are a slow creep of frigid water, deliberate and inexorable as the flow of time itself.

Down beneath mile after mile of water-–more than four miles in all-–lay the sea bottom, covered with a soft, deep ooze that had been accumulating there through eons upon eons of time. These greatest depths of the Atlantic are carpeted with red clay, a pumicelike deposit hurled out of the earth from time to time by submarine volcanoes. Mingled with the pumice are spherules of iron and nickel that had their origin on some far-off sun and once rushed millions of miles through interstellar space, to perish in the earth’s atmosphere and find their grave in the deep sea. Far up on the sides of the great bowl of the Atlantic the bottom oozes are thick with the skeletal remains of minute sea creatures of the surface waters-–the shells of starry Foraminifera and the limy remains of algae and corals, the flint-like skeletons of Radiolaria and the frustules of diatoms. But long before such delicate structures reach this deepest bed of the abyss, they are dissolved and made one with the sea. Almost the only organic remains that have not passed into solution before they reach these cold and silent deeps are the ear bones of whales and the teeth of sharks. Here in the red clay, in the darkness and stillness, lies all that remains of ancient races of sharks that lived, perhaps, before there were whales in the sea; before the giant ferns flourished on the earth or ever the coal measures were laid down. All of the living flesh of these sharks was returned to the sea millions of years before, to be used over and over again in the fashioning of other creatures, but here and there a tooth still lies in the red-clay ooze of the deep sea, coated with a deposit of iron from a distant sun.

Cabin Fever (aka… I hate these pink foam panels…)

Acrostic Poetry - February 1, 2009

(Unrhymed verse in which the letters of the topic are written vertically letter by letter, each of which is used to construct a phrase or a sentence that describes the topic.)

Cabin Fever:

Cabin fever in the dead of winter

Absolutely drives me crazy,

Because we have these pink,

Insulating foam panels to keep out the bitter cold.

Never does ice now form on our windows (which is good)

For they are completely blocked, but no sunshine can

Enter, ever…until the panels are taken down…when the outdoor temp. rises.

View the pond I cannot, nor can I see snowfall, and it is dark inside…

Ever dark, although with a Pepto Bismol pink glow when the sun shines.

Rejoice, I will, when the panels come down in March…

May 11, 2008 Mother’s Day Poem

To Mom

From Mom I got my love of words,
My love of rhyming too.
My love of writing poetry,
My love of good haiku.

From Mom I got my love of food,
My love of cheese fondue.
My love of all things chocolate,
My love of vindaloo. (ack)

From Mom I got my love of trees,
My love of flowers too.
My love of digging in the dirt,
My love of meadow rue.

From Mom I got my love of woods,
My love of nature too.
My love of birds and moose and bats,
My love of morning dew.

But, best of all from Mom I got
A love to stand all time.
A mother’s love embraces me,
A mother’s love sublime.

Snowflakes: Acrostic Poetry

December 24, 2007 - Acrostic Poetry
(Unrhymed verse in which the letters of the topic are written vertically letter by letter, each of which is used to construct a phrase or a sentence that describes the topic.)

Snowflakes:

Snowflakes form, and

No two are alike with

Origami shapes, as

Whispers of crystals and

Flowers of ice fall from the sky.

Lightly floating

Aloft in the breeze,

Kaleidoscopes of sparkling,

Effervescent crystals

Soften the landscape of Earth.