The Biology of Loss

She is perfect.

rufus breast

her back and wings

cloaked with feathers of burnt umber

She leaves a fledgling

that hops about her still body

I gather it up and place it

under a dense shrub

knowing its chances are slim

to none

Was it my cat?

There are no signs

He too is perfect.

his sleek  black and white form

graceful as a panther about the yard

Sunflowers for Ukraine- a poem

My eyes don’t see the explosions

a world away

still, the shockwaves course through me

images of shattered bodies and buildings

haunt as do the frightened

eyes of people displaced

by relentless violence

Blank Page

Make a Line

then another

keep going

it will become a drawing

Write the date

a word

a sentence

keep going

it will become a story

A Poet’s Lament

Slippery as a thrashing fish on the end of a taught line

my idea I foolishly thought I had a firm grip on

slithered away down into the deep recesses of my mind

It  rose during some insignificant task

a brilliant, shiny poem that would curry accolades

mine for the taking

Missing Me

I miss you

she said

Do you miss you too?

Yes, I miss me

I said

I miss those walks we had

at the orchard’s edge

philosophical conversation

keeping pace with our breath

Said the Tree to the Sky

Said the tree to the sky

My limb is broken

I will have to find a new way

To dance with the wind

artwork by the author

for the full post behind this poem visit byalanapass.com

Class 3

The sound of big water

I sit upright

pulse quickening

paying full attention with my body

the rapid comes into view

I spot my line

scouting for boulders, whirlpools

obstacles

that could flip my boat

Unprecedented

Unprecedented

temperatures

draught

wildfires

storms

flooding

hospitalizations

deaths

Owl Pellets

 by Alanna Pass

Owl pellet definition: “A regurgitated pellet of bones, hair, and other indigestible parts of an owl’s prey”

sketch by the author

I am learning to write like a great horned owl

I sit on a high perch

so that I may swivel my head in all directions

observing, listening, smelling

for inspirational prey

I leave my perch at a moment’s notice

a presence detected

with a silent swoop I spread my wings

extend my outstretched talons

and snatch my prey before possible escape

One Hundred Sixteen Degrees Fahrenheit

Even the bees pant and drink deeply

in a cluster at the edge of the birdbath

My flowers wilt in the searing heat

dropping their petals to survive

their leaves sunburn

The cats stay under the house

cooled by damp earth

A young pigeon sits on the lawn

in a heat-induced torpor

Garlic Scapes

Amid the crossing linear foliage

I spot them

heads nodding

shyly on slim necks

stems curving

with gestures of

graceful  ballerinas

The Color of My Roses

In late spring their blooms bid me

hello and farewell several times a day

my Dublin Bay roses that climb

the walkway arbor

a red, so delicious, so powerful

they command my attention

reaching deep in my passings

Walking Up the Mountain- an Earth Day Poem

How can I honor

you who feeds my body

and my soul

who provides me respite

from this troubled word?

I will walk up the mountain

through the meadow

through the wood

I will nod to your blessed

the iris , the camas, the fawn lilly

The Road Taken

Prompt “the road not taken” NaPoWriMo

Zander’s Gift

He is the fraidy one

but this morning he chooses me

popping up on my quilted lap

his purr inviting me

to cradle his sweet body

love his ears

and the soft fur of his belly

In this simple encounter

I breathe deeply

inhale our mutual contentment

savor that for this moment

all’s right with the world

Photo by the author

For the backstory on this poem visit byalannapass.com

A Toast for 2021

It’s the season of new

the Earth has spun through the heavens

and arrived at the place we call the beginning

a bookmark we humans have put in the order of things

the New Year, the first day of the first month of the 21^st year of the 21st century

All is new, yet all the same

a cycle in a continuum of millennia

yet a comfort that we have a fresh start in our minds

Winter Solstice At Midnight

The Darkest Night

It is fairy dark

You can see their

Tiny torches in

The moonless night

Murmurations

I am not fond of starlings

But in late autumn

Sometimes they crowd in the treetops

In a chirping chorus

Like a reunion of relatives

With an abundance of news to share

Who knows what stirs these rather uninspiring birds

To gather in in such a cacophony

Then on queue as if the din is too much

They rise from their perches to find positions

In an undulating dance that wafts over harvested fields.

They dip, swirl and twirl as one body

Thousands of avian forms performing with

Ballet grace in the sky

I pause from my walk to watch with reverence

A celebration?

A spiritual rite?

Scientists still don’t know quite how or why

A mystery

But I know magic when I see it

fot the backstory on this post visit byalannpass.com

artwork by the author

Stroller Dog

I  missed our walkabouts

His cattle dog body

All worn out

So I bought him a stroller

That saw four children grow

Then fixed it up

So he could go

Kitten

For the backstory on this poem go to byalannapass.com

Image by the author

How Do You Mourn?

How do you mourn a forest?

The universe it contains

Tree, fern, fungus, moss

Lichens draping from branches

How do you mourn the creatures?

That lost their lives

Their homes taken in an inferno of flames

Fanned by devil winds

As Oregon Burns- a poem

As Oregon burns

A dry wind howls from the east

We extinguish the candles

 and do not sleep

As Oregon burns

A black cloud draws across the sky like a flat curtain

Led by the dark horses of the apocalypse

Vole Hola

They appeared slowly

Like stars one by one

Vole holes

Holes from voles

Not a rat, nor mouse, nor mole

But a vole

Image courtesy https://www.thetimes.co.uk/

Why Bother

(Credit: RubberBall / Alamy) via bbc.com

To pick up a stray dog

To swerve for a mouse

To vote

To let another cut in front of you

To pick up litter

To eat less meat

To cook

To mend

P is for Pandemic

For the backstory on this post visit byalannapass.com

Small Acts of Rebellion

Not flossing before bed

Saying no to the news

Watching a movie first thing in the morning

Poem for Summer Solstice

I sought the perfect poem

for this longest day

It was a Goldilocks affair-

this poem too flowery

this poem- what does this one have to do

with Summer Solstice?

None were right

I cannot wear the words of these authors

comfortably

So I must write my own poem

of what the Summer Solstice means to me

Hanging Laundry

Bend, lift, snap, pin

repeat

the basket empties

the lines fill

the mind stills

banners of clothing

undulate with the breath

of a June morning

Image by the author

for the backstory of this poem go to byalannaPass.com

Alanna also blogs at One Sweet Earth (sustainability in small steps)