Contributor Posts

A frog, a fox
and a ring-tailed shrew,
were very bored,
having nothing to do
Until they encountered the
notorious fellow, Mr. Fitch.
He was a mean one, was he.
Often referred to as a son of,
ask him no questions,
he'll tell you no lies,
he is that type of a guy.

Echo's surround
this place I know,
across the canyon
and it's rock wall.
Say your name,
loud and well.
Speak, do not yell.

A perceptible sound
is heard, only the rain
splattering on the
pavement with an
occasional spray
on the windowpane.
It must be April.

They ran in a panic,
running to flee,
the fires, now burning
across forest and plain.
Small animals, deer, rabbits,
scurried away from flame,
caused by a careless
camper, who was to blame.

Bright is the morning,
as an early sunrise,
with cloudless skies,
while an easternly breeze,
shakes branches, now
barren of leaves.
Mist rising from ponds and streams,
as the sound of crickets,
accompanied by frogs,
mixed with the sound of bird songs
cuts through the air.
A beautiful morning
almost everywhere.

A swift coat
of fallen snow.
Nature's brush strokes
are the show.

I wish for the weather to warm
before any more damage occurs,
to the new plant growth.
I have lost many potted plants,
more than I can recall
from seasons past.
A sadness comes over me,
for the loss of growth,
taken so indiscriminately.

I am sitting here,
in the tree,
branches helping
to conceal me.
I am hoping I hear
and then see,
more food morsels
which will be
my salvation
and to feed me.

The clouds were
all dark and ominous.
Dark were they,
an angry Cumulous.

Long lay the lines
of a knotted-up sky.
Clouds, darkly twisted,
corkscrew in shape.
Dark was the night
as storm clouds amassed,
to the distant horizon.

A Western exposure,
a setting Sun,
reflections off our windows,
bringing warmth to someone.

Long was the river,
down from the hills.
A grand old river
of yellow Daffodils/