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    Nature and Peace Poems

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    Nature and Peace Poems

      By

      Robert J. MacPhee

      Published by:

      from

      The Collected Poetry of Robert J. MacPhee

      Copyright©2005 by Robert J.MacPhee

      Dedication

      to

      Louisa

      Acknowledgement

      I wish to thank Louisa MacPhee, my wife, for formatting this collection for publication and for being my technical consultant, and to my daughter Dr. Chantelle MacPhee, Elizabeth City State University for her continuing counsel and support

      Sections

      Flowers

      Violet

      Hollyhock

      Nature

      Nature’s Generosity

      Fingered trees

      Trees

      The leaves

      The willow tree

      A moment

      Light

      High Sol

      Let there be light

      Creatures

      The Snail

      The birds

      Windless flight

      The Butterfly

      Danger!

      Water

      Symbiosis

      Sibling

      Drops

      Places

      The bay

      The shore

      The city

      Country view

      Eventide

      The kettle

      Glass

      Where I live

      My Children and I

      Greening

      The winds

      The Rivers

      Peace

      May I Ask

      Can Peace Come

      May I Again ask

      Finally

      Flowers

      Violet

      Nestling,

      subdued,

      never subservient,

      without malice

      or affectation,

      this purple, Royal

      this green, Complete,

      supports and enhances

      Ah!

      This enchanted flowering

      Violet!

      Hollyhock

      This flower,

      on principle,

      The Lord will enfold.

      Yes,

      the eye of His needle

      be it ever so fine,

      will open,

      to receive the hollyhock

      for its beauty in this our clime,

      where our sense of beauty,

      is prone to rest,

      and our eyes tend to go blind,

      to the double debt

      this flower,

      gives to all humankind

      Nature

      Nature’s Generosity

      Nature has no rhythm,

      no refinement,

      no measured beat.

      Content is she to suspend time,

      avoid all restraint,

      be free to invent.

      Beyond our state,

      although finite,

      she moves,

      in ways we cannot circumscribe.

      We can only try to,

      catalogue and classify,

      according to our tenant state

      Fingered trees

      Fingered trees cross-hatching the hills,

      reaching up to hold the low horizon,

      Grey clouds,

      replete, sufficient,

      eager, even in their leaden state

      to jostle for place

      uncaring, indifferent,

      pressing down the horizon ever more

      on to the slender fingers

      stretching there.

      The Trees

      Yes,

      The trees are still beautiful in this desolate land

      where we can still hear the acute strains

      of wild pine, Hebridean,

      or note the malleable angle

      of the wimping willow

      while seeing, where northerly grows

      the harlot larch,

      stretching to join the endless lowline that denotes

      the juniper's presence

      or watch the clouds proliferate,

      the rain increase in burden and charge,

      the leaves and needles fall,

      destitute,

      overcome by all this natural generosity.

      The leaves

      Like children in the primal position,

      Waiting behind a door

      for the next dawn,

      the trembling leaves hid,

      in fear of some devilish psyche,

      who lurked outside,

      waiting to dispel known sights

      and introduce new meanderings.

      The willow tree

      The old willow tree,

      tired of submission,

      suddenly stood straight,

      assuming this new stance

      just before the evening storm.

      I was amazed to see a natural thing

      will and alter,

      changing the senseless grip of genetics,

      Then I remembered the sapsuckers,

      so greedy, so thoughtless,

      had spent the week,

      hollowing the strength of that tree,

      in every branch and twig.

      From my window, this morning,

      I noticed my view was unobstructed.

      The sapsuckers sat on the fence, bewildered.

      The wind was much stronger, over my sill

      A moment

      On the browned earth,

      grayed trees,

      graveled roads,

      and the static river,

      the lazy snowflakes slipped.

      down the yielding columns of

      recumbent clouds

      sleeping, there,

      in the midday.

      All things below

      then slowly turned a placid white,

      yes,

      hued things became coordinated

      into one universal primary,

      eliminating all known boundaries of

      line and frame.

      then,

      differences were all joined

      into one,

      indivisible, all-covering fact,

      as a result

      not of plan or purpose

      but of circumstance

      Light

      High Sol

      Nature,

      open in surrender to High Sol,

      vibrating,

      constantly absorbing those chosen bands

      so needed for the green promise.

      And with veins at maximum span

      drawing the sweet liquid of life

      into all the wells

      enjoining all,

      in life's full capacity,

      even when satiated,

      always thirsty

      pressing eagerly

      drinking ever more deeply.

      Let there be light

      Slender slivers, sol bright,

      transfixed in circuitry,

      wait to illuminate light.

      Slippery pages

      placed end to end

      tap the resources of the fundament.

      Silent scales,

      annointed,

      await the endless line

      in that absolute prime, when,

      Slender slivers, sol bright,

      transfixed in circuitry

      Will contain and illuminate light.

      Creatures

      The Snail

      Gently, softly,

      cloned to insignificance,

      inconspicuous to all living things,

      he moved, without effort.

      Programmed and immersed

      in ganglion oblivion,

      he traveled easily,

      from branch to branch,

      along a developing track of

      frictionles
    s ooze

      that contained his random path

      Until, across my hand

      he slipped and slid

      (I felt fear from his most alien touch)

      to reach a neighboring branch

      beside my slimed hand,

      his bridge.

      The birds

      The birds repeat their mindless little phrase,

      Never attempting to improvise,

      or counterpoint the line.

      No conscious mind thus no regrets,

      no hopes no allusions,

      no darkening place,

      They neither endure

      nor do they weep

      Their short life is

      neither bitter

      nor even sweet.

      How common,

      yet, how pleasant must be their life

      that has;

      but one moment of possible pain

      before,

      an infinite moment

      of Everlasting Life.

      Windless flight

      Her windless flight I hastened to see

      when the little bird created waves,

      mysteriously,

      before alighting on a piece of pine,

      to pause, to consider.

      Then she entered freely into the darkness

      where she sat, for just a moment

      before, turning about

      to face the right,

      opening her eyes

      evermore wide.

      to reflect the quantum

      and initiate light

      that flew to my mind,

      quietly rested there

      as a particular reminder,

      of her place,

      here.

      The Butterfly

      The butterfly flew

      into the web of sunshine

      that covered the field.

      An ant crawled

      across a bridge of light.

      A young boy

      stepped on one and pinned the other.

      The sun freckled his youthful face.

      Danger!

      Malevolant and so aged,

      slimmed to fit the bore,

      Nature squeezed the trigger

      and danger was in the fore.

      Invisible,

      he slammed my slackened tackle,

      brought fear to me

      even before his body blocked the air

      before my frozen eyes.

      That primeval power escaped my harness

      by lengthening it beyond all possibility,

      gutting my reel,

      numbing my arm,

      Before slamming back into

      his waiting environment.

      Water

      Symbiosis

      As the water's hands subtly shifted,

      the bird moved aside,

      surrendering space

      to the water mite and spiders three,

      who walked on water

      to delight just me.

      Her fingers

      flicked green algae and quivering slime,

      until the sun stretched out

      and visibly transformed,

      the visual state of all of these.

      She saw all of this

      understood and quietly waited

      until the sun,

      satisfied in vanity,

      slipped casually by,

      leaving the water, the mite, the spiders and me,

      to gather together

      in a new symbiosis.

      Sibling

      Hydrogen and those siblings of life,

      entered a frigid zone and coalesced in fright.

      Unfortunately, their weight was on a point

      that yielded and was torn asunder,

      forming a funnel that shaped a path,

      that lead the little community down,

      to a final prance upon my bare scalp.

      As I recoiled from their contact

      my muscles, catching the fear, began to seize,

      in anticipation of a further impact

      until I paused to ponder this ridiculous
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