Subtle poetry


How Free are We?

© 1995 Don M. Blews

 

Free am I to flaunt my grace,

 prehistoric.....

 coming through the ages,

 gliding.....

 mastering the sky.

 

 One of a few

 from a nest of sticks,

 low in a tree.....I came,

 from a colony of grunts and screams,

 far in a lagoon at Florida Bay.

 

 Beyond the breakers,

 I buckle and drop

 as water sprays; it appears.....

 plunging for prey,

 blundering my way.

 

 Unlike the cousins.....

 larger and snowy,

 as they gather,

 chasing fins to the shallows,

 so I dive, with fin expertise.

 

 On raising my bill

 ocean pours out,

 while safe in my pouch

 fish flap about;

 mine entree dined ere davy’s soup.

 

 The fish in my gullet

 did eat from the sea.....

 a sea tainted toxic

 from man and his waste;

 a toxin does curdles to glut.

 

 This glut of the sea

 does gel my eggs, barren my young,

 weaken my feathers.

 With few feeble wings

 how free will we be?

 

 

 

Visitor

© 1995 Don M. Blews

 

 The sun’s compassion, caressed by the winds,

 sees one wave’s fury dowsed by anew.

 Sand hugs my toes over dune blazers;

 morning glories anchored fast.

 Coerced as a quest of the sandpiper,

 I feel serene in nature’s sauna.

 

 The crabs behind me dance in chaos

 as pines slash through fronds of palms.

 In a world of waning He dared appear,

 the lone survivor, last of its kind.

 A welcomed visit amongst the yucca,

 His eminence displayed in silent repose.

 

 A worthy assemblage of God’s creation,

 wrapped in fur gleaming of auburn.

 Swift as a wind’s gust in high,

 He pranced along like a hurricane’s eye.

 Refusing to move as I cry for air,

 in fear of waking upon an illusion.

 

 Gracing a stance merely three feet,

 His stare mused, reflecting my thoughts.

 Four eyes locked in ignorant wonder,

 how short we come of knowing each other;

 He as beast.....I being man,

 close in reach.....so far in grace.

 

 My heart pounding and glands active,

 find His ears forward and nostrils flared.

 Bolting about in flag-tail motion,

 His signal of white vanished from sight.

 As grains of sand enshroud His tracks,

 yesterday fades on the wake of today.

 

 Focused on asphalt, now over His turf,

 anger encroaches my unchanted heart.

 With eyes of lament, I look to the dunes,

 at high rises tall and condos bold.

 Where comes our license, displacing a creature,

 as covetous growth exploits His land?

 

 

 

 Our Only Marsupial

© 1995 Don M. Blews

 

The possum stood still,

 berries she yearned for.....

 juicy and sweet.

 Her quest for the bounty

 lay across the street.

 

 This mother dared,

 despite the danger,

 to cross the line.....

 six bundles of fur

 trailing behind.

 

 Slowly she rambled

 aware of the rumbles.

 For the call of the fruits

 she crossed the path

 of the king of all brutes.

 

 From the roars came a thud,

 a rustle, then silence

 as she lay on the line.....

 six bundles of fur

 waiting behind.

 

 The thud lingered silent.

 A face white of fears,

 a fur red of slaughters

 lay cold.....a sacrifice

 to her sons and daughters.

 

 Six orphans stand still

 mourning their loss,

 yesterday coddled and

 unable to wait.....today

 adults of frenzied fate.

 

 They take to the woods

 their lesson of death,

 while across the street

 call the berries she yearned for.....

 juicy and sweet.

 

 

 

Ode to a Peninsula

© 1995 Don M. Blews

 

I once beheld your tresses,

 sandy.....limestone streaked;

 your breasts, fertile.....

 flora dressed.

 

 I caressed your skin,

 earthy.....loamy rich;

 your face, bubbling.....

 artesian laced.

 

 I stroked your hands

 sandy.....mangrove matted;

 your fingers of coral.....

 polyp flowered.

 

 In the ship of progress

 I came with man;

 in the swell of seas

 my love was found.

 

 I now behold your tresses,

 frayed.....debris littered;

 your breasts, leveled.....

 lumber scarred.

 

 I caress your skin,

 chalky.....concrete sealed;

 your face, parched.....

 aqua bled.

 

 I stroke your hands,

 barren.....steel confined;

 your fingers, lifeless.....

 vessel scoured.

 

 In the ships of spoil

 I flee with man;

 in the wakes of sea

 my love is lost.

 

 

 

The Violation of Florida

© 1995 Don M. Blews

 

As waters receded, skies lit my spirit,

 a fresh burst of air carried rebirth.

 My virginity flooded by green pioneers,

 grew to climax a union with nature.....

 forests pristine and rivers clean.

 

 Ponce deLeon yearned my secrets,

 so others traveled to tap for riches,

 forbidden to those who trespass my soils.

 Natives without pity and swamps without passion,

 kept my grounds sacred and chastity guarded.

 

 Investors and wreckers tried their fortune;

 my lands discovered in callous fervor.

 In fights for possession, nobody won.....

 from this came dissonance into my bosom.

 Once in peace, I now cope with man.

 

 Close to my rivers, men settled in,

 an influx yet spread by steamboat and rail.

 Grazing and crop land were direfully needed.....

 a maize of canals for drainage was born;

 dollars poured in as my lifeblood flowed out.

 

 For minerals I was striped and laid to waste,

 denuded, bled, and bleached of all dignity.

 A smart new breed, displacing the settlers,

 quickly defiled my fragile coasts,

 probing for water deep in my soul.

 

 They came for health, sunshine and profit,

 building a megopolis tempting to millions.

 As my burden was laden, upward growth was clear.....

 pavement and condos rose from the ravage.

 I lay tarred and cemented.....shackled in iron.

 

 Can I reclaim my terra and flora,

 God’s creatures of earth and water?

 Will a manicure rekindle a romance with nature?

 Its man who affects and time that tells.....

 this epilogue I ask, should I die. 





© Don Blews 2016