From Whence Come I

Guide me once again,
dear muse

Deep into the wild
wherein lay my ancestry
abiding amongst the clover
upon the mystic Highlands

Where the goats do graze
and aye the zephyr's breeze
blazens my cheeks ablush

To step upon the grasslands
cradled with soft mosses
framed with black eyed suzies
and amber stalks of rye

Take me away as before
touch the golden silence
embrace the heart's own rhythm
befriending the seeds of life

Guide me once again,
dear love

12/18/11

The Cricket

A cricket sat upon
My golden glasses rim
He looked me in the eye
And I looked back at him

His eyes were big and round
One eyelid blinked a wink
I gazed at him and asked
"What is it that you think?"

He bobbed his head, stroked his wings
Playing a solemn tune
Then he answered wisely
Beneath the silver moon

"My life it may be short
Yet I work day and night
My melodies I play
With great purpose and delight

For those in wood and town
The two-legged creatures great
Reminding them that if I cease
They'll know it is too late."

He hopped right off my glasses
And sauntered to the trees
At night now when I hear him
I bow upon my knees

September 15, 2oo7

Carol Welch

~*~*~
My friend Brian designed an awesome art piece based on this poem.
Then his mom-in-law quilted it.

"The Cricket Knot"

Click here to view: the artful phases of The Cricket Knot. 

~*~*~

A picture of the quilt....

One Piece of Trash

I saw a piece of trash
on the ground today.
I could have walked right by
and let that litter lay.

I paused a moment, looked around,
as people quickly passed.
Reaching down I wondered,
why do we move so fast?

Maybe folks will notice
when the litter is a heap.
I hope we soon slow down
before it gets too deep.


april 11, 2007
carolwelch

sides of summer

sun sits

on the back side of summer now

glowing hue a bit different

softer in the evenings

days are shortening 

a little at a time

sun becoming farther away

each day, tad by tad

on the front side of summer

tadpoles swam in shallow waters

deep brown or black tails 

with heads

one might not conclude 

the bouncy frog by the river bank 

was hatched with no legs

back then
on the other side of summer

august 11, 2011

judithpiper

______________________________

night walk in summer

hubby, grand-dog, and I

post sunset walk,
neighborhood street,
quiet,
headlights
from the occasional passing car

shadows in the woods,
sculpted images
like Dr. Suess trees
that could be monsters
in the night

covered they are
with kudzu

hearty, indestructible kudzu

vines that grow a foot a day,
deep green foliage,
shapely grape-like leaves,
rich in protein for horses

vines woven into baskets,
root powdered into thickener,
ingredient in candy,
killer of trees

but one would not know
it's a murderer,
neither does the kudzu

as its beautiful green
bonds together the hillsides
and trees
smothering out life-giving
sun light

i enjoy the shadows
on our pre-bedtime walk

august 10, 2011
judithpiper

Poetic Doodles

Perusing some scribbles from my private blog, I found a few poetic doodles.
***

If rocks could sing
What would they say
Would they grow feet
Come out to play
Or would they stay
Under the ground
Watch us humans
Toil up and down

may 5, 2010
***

Be

Heart, smiles
Peace, deep
Life, breathes
Satisfaction, sweet

John, back home
Sarah, with Yerba
Joshua, on ladders
Carol, in love

Earth, spins
Sun, warms
Ocean, rolls
Moon, smiles

All is well

may 7, 2010
***

Backpacking Jingle

Quads, hamstrings
Trekking poles and hip flexors.
Quads, hamstrings,
Trekking poles and hip flexors.
Quads, hamstrings,
Trekking poles and hip flexors.

That's how I make it 'cross the mountain.

Feet relax.
Ankles supple.
Long strides.
Ankles firm.

Quads, hamstrings
Trekking poles and hip flexors.

That's how I make it 'cross the mountain.

mid-may, 2010
***

One

Oh Wind

Your kind breezes
kiss my cheeks

Yet I know the fury
in Your passion

Gently rest Your lips, I pray,
and may Our passions meld

may 30, 2010
***

Zephyr's Croon

As I stroll
Breezes blow
Whispering echoes
From long ago

A simpler life
Or so we're told
Eat, sleep, harvest
Times of old

Overload's toll
In this modern age
So much to do
Progress's gauge

Fulfillment's gap
Wider grows
With each new toy
To ease our woes

Breath doth sigh
One cannot miss
What has not been
Nor yet exists

Lucky the warbler
From twigs and grass
She twines her nest
As in ages past

Slow our pace
Heed her voice
Purl, weave, rest
A simpler choice


march 16, 2008
judithpiper

***
I enjoy sitting upon a mountain ridge and listening. Often I hear the wind as it approaches. And then I feel it kiss my cheeks. My thoughts wonder, bask, and dive into Zephyr's touch and voice.

There are many voices in the wind. Some speak of past. Others of future. All of the gift, the present. May we heed their lessons more and more.

This poem was written after a day hiking around The Saddle.
***

Unseen Makers

I talked to God today
and asked if he was near

Breeze tickled my toes
but I could not see the breeze

Birds warbled among trees
but I did not see the birds

Crickets chirped amidst ferns
but no crickets could I see

Cars hummed on distant streets
but I did not see the cars

Stereo bass boomed from the road
but no speakers could I see
 
Golden leaves of autumn shone
but sun had moved beyond my sight

Lonely leaf drifted to earth
and gravity was invisible

I wanted to see a snake today
I like snakes in the wild

Autumn sun invites them
to bathe before they hibernate

I wondered to myself,
God, do you hibernate?

Then my telephone buzzed
a welcome friend I heard

Yet I could not see the lovely face
to whom the voice belonged

I talked to God today
and asked if He was near

november 08, 2009
judithpiper

***

It was a lovely day this past Sunday, 11/08.

I looked for snakes as I walked along the Greenway.  I thought of them hibernating soon.

I sat on my deck and listened to all the sounds around me.  I watched.  The giant tree up in the woods really did shine golden from the sun which was hidden on the other side of the house.  The sounds, though I couldn't see their makers, were very much real and alive.

That seems to be how God answered my question.

I was on my way to write the poem when my phone rang.  It was a friend.  We talked for over two hours.

Life is everywhere around us, every day.  Have you ever noticed how many seeds are produced?  Wow!

Intersections

I like autumn

and winter

and spring

and summer

and up

and down

and sideways

and especially curves

on mountain roads

with fog it's hard to

see

the yellow line

at night

those little reflectors

help a lot

little eyes coming

up from the hardened tar

tar eyes

that's what they are

other eyes

live in the forest

whose pupils

shine like

lights

in the

dark

in autumn

in winter

in spring

in summer

september 29, 2009
judithpiper

****
One of my favorite activities at my job is communicating with artists. We mainly communicate via email, though sometimes via phone. Every so often face to face.

One artist who I enjoy going back and forth with is Ray. Ray is a collage artist, a musician, and a poet. He always causes me to chuckle, or think, or ponder. He has the most entertaining subject lines for his emails.

At work earlier this evening, I opened one of his emails entitled "M.T. Graves." M.T. Graves...hehe... I chuckled wondering what he'd be sending along. He usually always writes something about Artomat, and then throws in these side notes. This time it was about autumn, and the reality that stuff dies and decays in autumn. So I reminded him that the decay feeds the soil. It's all in good fun.

And out came the above ditty (a rendition) in response to Ray. He wrote back his own poetic verse; complex and dark with a hint of humor.

One of the visuals that came to mind was a memory of driving in thick fog at night in the North Carolina mountains some twenty-five plus years ago. The fog was so dense, I had to open my car door to look down at the middle line in order to drive; there were no reflectors on the lines.

All of a sudden the line disappeared. I applied the brake to come to a complete stop from my 5 miles per hour speed, if I was even going that fast. Panic momentarily struck my heart.

Then I realized I was in an intersection. I creeped slowly forward, and the line reappeared.

Seasons are kind of like intersections too.

Maybe that road has reflectors now, but probably not.

Mile Post 168

***
The Saddle
Evening view

To the east dips the valley
To the west rises Buffalo
Astride the mountain's back
High upon The Saddle

Blustery gusts
Wind swept
Open face
Arms upstretched
Hands wide
Breezes swaddle
Magical still

Bid farewell to day star
Greet hello to orb's reflection
To the west dips Sun
To the east rises Moon

Another day
The Saddle

judithpiper
july 5, 2009

***

A place I frequent along the Blue Ridge Parkway, mile post 168. Buffalo is the name of a mountain.

Glimpse from the Saddle Overlook
Buffalo Mountain