By Charles Robert Lindholm
#32 POETRY =
A morning hike
No. 7 the Jemverse series ‘Down in Dorset’
So we all walked back to Charmouth early morning 'round sunrise with mist in all the valleys and a glow atop the rise Took us about an hour then we walked right back again as the sun climbed higher brightly in the east from whence it came
Haiku
day dawned delightful
dainty dragonflies in flight
naiads dancing
O’Prunty
5/21/2021
Her Place
grounding and grinding
the mustard weed
to a color nearing ochre
and a mixture of red clay
she paints frescos
on the walls
of hidden caves
leaving her watermark
O’Prunty
5/20//2021
The cast of winter’s die
Reflection the raindrop
Sunday Morning Sunrise
The Sunday morning sunrise
Ascending Americas skies
Seems to revive dreams
Dreams, that nearly died…
And though the fights not over
And though the road is long
This Sunday morning sunrise
Reminds us to stay strong…O’Prunty
In Honor of President Elect Joe Biden and VP Kamala Harris
NATURE’S LIGHT SHOW
By Charles Robert Lindholm
The
Lightning Strikes
In The Distance,
A Light Show With
Thunder
Copyright © 2019 Charles Robert Lindholm, The Reluctant Poet
All Rights Reserved – 05.21.2019 @ 4:15 p.m.
Please Come Visit My Archive!!
A Bite of Moon

doors melt in my eyes
fishes shiver in fright
if rabbits could count ducks
leaves would spread smiles
Things to do on hot days II
Dawning
light came dancing through the trees
on twigs, branches, vibrant leaves
as day dawned delightfully:
just me, my garden,
and loose-leaf tea…O’Prunty 6/21/2020
-09.06.20_21:50-
They trill in their thousands
Briefly over powered by
Bullfrog or car,
Singing ever louder
A carpet of sound
Growing ever closer
Pressing inside of my
Skull.
Little tree gone
On Beauty
The witching hour passed me by
Dawn scaled the eastern sky
Laced in lavenders, pinks, and blues
The beauty of Nature came shining through
And all that kept me wide awake
Pales in comparison for beauties sake
For what is Life void of beauty?
But a mundane existence complied with duty
So, take a breath, glance around
There’s always Beauty to be found
And may your eyes be filled as mine
Reflecting Beauty, surreal, sublime
That sweet, sweet slumber finds you once more
Content with Life as never before.
O’Prunty
4/23/17
Mountain Morning
The mountains, lustrous at dawn.
Below, here in the valley,
the droplets of last night’s rain
shimmer on blades and twigs, their
molecules respond to the sun
like a woman rising to
meet a beloved’s touch.
Wait.
Something is going on up there
on the deep-packed slope.
A whirling figure of white, of mist,
there, yet almost not;
A snow giant,
like a tranced dervish, twirls in
the morning’s new energies—
it whirls violently,
fingerless, wispy hands thrust
high into the cold blue,
200 feet tall, or more.
A mile, maybe. It’s hard
to tell from here, as it’s
insubstantial. Massive.
In Stanmer Woods
The Curvature of Water
And here, in the kingdom of clouds,
vast continents of mist
dwarf the mountains,
lumber lightly
in from the ocean,
float improbably, silently.
They sometimes, when the air is cold,
leak acres of crystal
in the high wilderness of fir and grizzly,
burying the trees and crags of the
inaccessible mystery in white.
And here, over the empire of emeralds,
they sweep and swell and
break apart and spill out
mighty rivers and silver lakes,
wash the air clean and
sift down through my willow tree,
bit by drop, sink from sight and
hurry to refill the ocean.
Bye bye Blackbird
Last spring the laurel hedge by my window was empty
No chirruping, calling, no rustling of glossy leaves
No fledglings edging off the nest onto twigs and then the adjacent fence
No wobbling and frantic flapping as parents patiently cajole
No triumphant flights to the Rose bushes
Only to tumble to the grass
As the chosen twig was too thin
Too hot, too hot
Like tracks in the snow
Little lives go
In our melting
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Diamonds II
Ghost Ocean
Waves throw up on the shore
remnants of ocean lives
tangles of plastic
debris from both sides
of a blurring boundary.
Revealing hints of the diversity underneath
and of the death we impose.
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/