Landscape

June 8, 2021June 8, 2021

The Killdeer and Red Clay

The Killdeer takes short running steps
in the grasses of Wyoming, reminiscent
of the Sand Plover on the beach
a sandy shore sparkling in the sun

singing their short high pitched song
creeping stealth but hesitating
then stopping to take in their
grassy surroundings

this they do each day routinely
as I take my walk in the heat of day
the winds gusting around me
that threaten but do not sway

for the scenery is new to me
a visitor here, as I admire contrasting
greens with that of the red clay earth
touched by iron oxide in Nature

in a landscape seeming barren, lacking
stretching toward the horizon line
is still teeming with life unseen
beauteous if you but take time to see

February 2, 2020February 2, 2020

Bejeweled Prisms

Once again the intrepid wind has abated
a force to be reckoned with in time
as it pummels sturdy houses, tender leaves
nothing safely harbored in its’ wake

but abate it does, glorious it may be
replaced with a bitter cold, crisp dawn
another jewel lit morning scenes
of frosted houses and icy lawns

the grass crunches beneath my feet
held captive in tiny bejeweled prisms
reflecting everything and nothing
that can be seen with the naked eye

but it is amazing to envision all
the possibilities of nature as it
holds such glittering diamonds
within its’ outstretched hand

even on an inclement day with storms
with unbridled destruction & loss
the aftermath can be beautiful awe
when everything grows is now new

nature is the master of all it surveys
painting over and over again landscapes
it created, to create yet another
landscape within its’ place

IMPOSSIBLY POSSIBLE!
Giving me pause to wonder

A Public Domain Photo Taken & Created As Art by Myself

December 28, 2019December 28, 2019

A Dance Of Epic Proportions

The fog is heavy as a blanket
& thick enough for warmth
but chilling to the touch

the heaviness of how it lies
upon the landscape
muffles sound

a density that ensconces trees
& enfolds houses

one might believe they can
all but move it aside
with the touch of a hand

but it will not move
not willingly

it will wait below whilst
a brilliant shining orb
burns above &
cannot be seen
nor felt

a dance of epic proportions
goes on outside
my window

who is the real master
or mistress
here

a hidden shift that will
only reveal the answer
by one of the dancers
next moves

but for now as in a game
game of chess
it is a stalemate

the dancers seemingly
frozen in time

This Image Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Created As Art

June 21, 2018

Sweet Layers of Imagination

Imagination

There are moments I believe
that de’ja’ vu really does exist
when I walk into another world,
an alternate landscape

to escape my obsessed compulsion
crafting a skewed vision filled
with black and white reality

ethereal as stepping on solid clouds
drifting over a technicolor scene
where a yellow brick road
leads to perspicacity
strangely curious

or yet upon closing my eyes
I sleep so deep imagination unfolds
in sweetest layers I inhale
swallowing each one
anxious for
the next

beautiful as pastillage
settling on my tongue
like honey

I see a girl who speaks to trees,
smiling at flowers who
innately knows
her secrets

and where the eyes of animals
reflect her soul
back to her in
infinite profusions
of color

painting details like the spices
completing ingredients
in foods from everywhere
smelling of a full life
in every inhaled
breath

where upon touching a mirror
she steps through liquid mercury
pure as water chaste
before rigidity touches
her image
with age

yet these images might be to me
only lucid as a million stars
in the night sky where
Zeus holds court

only quick
in twilight hours
before I wake

August 14, 2017

An Infinity of Stars Woven

Within the landscape of time are
the shadows of war residing
casting doubts of fear
over hope filled integrity

for if I could but ease the pain
& erase the memory of horror
that slices through hearts
once laden with joy
I would

but there will always be those
who seek righteousness loaded
with weapons of destruction
their efforts devoid
of compassion

and soldiers who participate
on the battlefields of wars
whether at home or across seas
will carry scars always

and if it were possible within
me as a wordsmith to pen a poem
of salve and healing
I would

so that children may once again play
on peaceful soil under watchful eyes
of mothers and fathers
who can rest assured
of a tomorrow

filled with the spirit of love
& that fireworks will be celebration
& not the deafening voices
of bombs falling

for my soul cannot rest within me
until the vision of the universe
is the essence of peace shining
like an infinity of stars

the threads of woven fabric
like none that has ever been made
containing naught of the shadows of war
but a humanity of peacemakers
the gardeners sowing
seeds for the
future

This is in response to Jamie Dedes’s Wednesday Prompt. Please read more poets responses at https://jamiededes.com/2017/08/09/do-not-make-war-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File and digitally altered by myself.

Field of Peacemakers

May 29, 2017September 2, 2017

Glistening Bits of Gold

On a day where time stands still she sees
each quintessential increment of time
like the sun hitting tiny seed pods that
have fallen on the street glistening as
tiny bits of gold sparkling as jewels
that offset the black asphalt street
turning the harsh landscape of tar into
that of a black silken cape waiting
to be garnered by nature’s queen as
she strolls the avenue bending only
momentarily to gaze lovingly at all that
she has made from the beauty of flowers
orange as the poppy to that of the shrubs
close to the ground shading tiny insects
to the majesty of towering evergreens
she becomes entwined in the moment and
she is ensconced and feels content

© May 2017 Renee Espriu

This is in response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/05/24/the-sun-is-in-love-with-me-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. Please do visit to read other poets’ response. The photo below is my own.

Orange Poppies

May 3, 2017September 2, 2017

Dreaming of Children

A landscape of memory littered
with pieces of dreams
children that once lived
once laughed
oft times schemed

she sees a house abandoned now
ought times with love filled
each & every birth an
auspicious moment still
& each year

she knows she has been gifted
that any tears shed
were merely a bridge
between yesterdays
& tomorrows albeit

as other mothers cry oceans
of salt filled tears
for children that lived once
without fear in loving arms
with kisses, soft still

their auspicious moment shattered
a broken memory like
shards of glass
now buried descending deep
earth’s grief surpassed

whose sorrow cannot rebuild
houses in ashes smoldering
whose dreams
hold ghostly remnants
pale & fading

where a timeless epitaph remains
of young lives interrupted
photos tinged yellow
touched by death
a noxious poison

thinking of this she turns pages
a book of photographs old
& knows dreams
will still be her comfort
will still unfold

that some mother’s dreaming will
become a vile nightmare
an interloper in sun rays
unwanted slumber
empty days

I am a little late to post this on my site. It was first posted in the Bezine last month. You can read more of some wonderfully written poems and other posts at https://thebezine.com/project-type/the-bezine-april-2017-vol-3-issue-7. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File & Digitized by myself.

Dreaming Children

May 1, 2017September 2, 2017

Tarnished Goods

The fox follows her along the byway to reach untouched forests
those forests unfettered by time and pristine oceans devoid of human touch
and each time always she passes freeways littered with a garbage landscape
the fox glances at bottles and fast food wrappers collecting
on roads under construction on a continuum of future whys
where the smell of black tar invades with stinging and burning
she should be accustomed but wrinkles her nose in disgust
as does the fox now her shadow trusting she will reach a destination
not concrete and black asphalt now covering the richness of earth
and does she still hope windows rolled and closed will be enough
enough to keep her safe or will they be unable to block
out the constant drone of the noise of a civilized world
a world that is one built impinging on nature’s habitat
one adding insult to injury and becoming a macabre graveyard
to endangered species & the fox wonders if he will be next
but he cannot bring himself to let himself be absorbed
into track homes swallowing up citrus groves as the raccoons have done
stealing into the night to rob garbage cans of their next meal
this becoming an unnatural habitat as it has for bears and possum
and he feels oddly fortunate that tigers and lions do not live here
but he can still hear them all screaming in pain underpinned with sorrow
and the fox listens as he follows and always the level of noise increases
increases exponentially with every tree cut down and concrete poured
and the fox feels his shadow growing less as theirs becomes more
where claustrophobic habitats are multiplying housing for a rising populace
and the need to reach the forest to be able to stare in awe at the ocean
propels them down the road and she knows she is like the fox
and that no amount of polish will shine and bring it all back
to bring it back to a time delegated to past histories before her
before the fox became her shadow on a journey to find survival
the only solution being the ability of technology to merge with nature
to be a part of the answer in preserving the beauty here long before us
long before becoming tarnished goods in the midst of climate change
long before the fox became her shadow and she became the fox’s shade