Archive for Nature Poetry

Oleander

Oleander by Paul J. Willis      (Nerium oleander) Oleander! Take a gander at these whorls of creamy flowers. If you eat them, you’ll deplete them and destroy your mortal hours. Yet by highways and in byways you will see them bloom and thrive. In Hiroshima it may seem a miracle: They stayed alive. —from Losing Streak

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Song of the Mosquito

Song of the Mosquito by Paul J. Willis I whine by day, I whine by night; your flesh, it whets my appetite. Within your powers do what you may— you can swat or you can spray— but in the end I will succeed and pierce your skin to fill my need. For God made me […]

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Stevens Park

Stevens Park by Paul J. Willis Purple sage and purple nightshade, mingled in the morning sun, wild roses and nasturtium, sweet bay laurel lately won by our recent poet laureate, who, if she by chance were here, would give words to each new blossom, rhyme to scan this time of year. But since she dwells […]

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Hollow Again

Hollow Again by Paul J. Willis (Quercus agrifolia) Look at this trunk, burnt hollow,      keyholed from side to side.           Yet, in spite of a few dead limbs,                a crown of leaves pushes against the patient sky. So we might      flourish, in spite of ourselves,           evacuated of fortitude. Paul                said it: in weakness, strength; in death, […]

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Listen

Listen by Paul J. Willis A lake lies all alone in its own shape. It’s not going anywhere. A lake can wait a long time for a hiker to come and camp on its shore. It will reflect the moonlight, give him a drink of pale silver. Toward dawn, the wind might ruffle it a […]

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Piano

Piano by Paul J. Willis The summer you were seven you could hardly sleep that night before your first recital. “I’d rather break my arm,” you said. Which is what you did with an hour to spare. We could blame the dog who chased you into the glass door, but that would be dumb. A […]

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Bearpaw Meadow

Bearpaw Meadow by Paul J. Willis Incense cedar, elderberry, scattered chapels of white fir. Cones stand up like paper squirrels on the branches, waxing resinous in sun—light of the year yet lingering with warmth in plenty, here, now, an afternoon in folded grass and browning nests of bracken under broken granite, lucid sky. Stillness after […]

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Seed Money

Seed Money by Paul J. Willis (Pinus monticola) The first white pine of the morning is holding up fistfulls of dollars, currency of June-green cones, ready cash soon to be invested in land, far-flung properties ripe for speculation, bonds that grow, yielding interest that never ends.                                   Compared to this, the silver coins of aspen leaves […]

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Ambition

Ambition by Paul J. Willis One oar, then another, stirs the water. Ripples gather at the prow, a wake appears. You watch them as if they measure destiny. This takes a life. Finally you learn to drift. The horizon is enough to see on every side. A boat will carry you where you are. —from […]

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Curlieu Falls

Curlieu Falls by Paul J. Willis Mid-May in the Sierra— this is when the water knows to fling itself from cliffs and ledges, spray through chartreuse alder leaves. Then it curls in granite channels, licking the moss, and calms the shade below the live oak terraces, the bleeding heart, the nodding heads of saxifrage. —Sierra […]

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