poetry and more from Kenneth W Arthur

Tag Nature

Sacraments

Sacraments An unintentional baptism, canoe livery advised follow river center when we come to whitewater remains of demolished dam. The precipitous plunge briefly thins rushing water, removes its depth, draws bedrock closer. Froth of river’s fury warns of peril while… Continue Reading →

If I were a turtle

If I were a turtle I would bask all day in the hot sun on my favorite log. If I got too warm I’d burrow deep down into the river bed mud. When I was hungry I would catch a… Continue Reading →

Forest bathing

Forest bathing I. … is what the Japanese call a walk in the woods with no agenda, no news of tyrants and atrocities. Embrace oak’s gruff coat, birch’s papery veneer, soak in ancient wisdom of quiet community knowing nothing of… Continue Reading →

On the Edge of Paradise

On the Edge of Paradise unlike         the red maple standing proudly next to church entrance                 her devoted husband on his morning run         the pair… Continue Reading →

Moon-shine

Moon-shine The weathered ancient man, face lit by pipe’s glow, arrests my faltering step as autumn crisp invades my lungs. Plump and round, slouched low, his piercing scrutiny shivers my skin, casts intoxicating shadow within shadow. He beckons me to… Continue Reading →

False Spring

False Spring Malady unvaried in monotonous rhythm, my love retires annually to her bed, pushing away all who seek embrace. Pallid and shivering, she slumbers for months until, recovered, she returns to her responsibilities as if nothing had been amiss…. Continue Reading →

Acadian Ontology

Acadian Ontology Printed memories preserve the cool, sprinkling summer morning as I descend the framework of wooden steps to the small deserted bay on the Maine coast. Searching for adventure, I crave profundity in nature’s beauty. An otherworldliness that I… Continue Reading →

More American Sentences

More American Sentences Acadia National Park, Maine, 2015         On the mountaintop, fog of a stormy day arrests inspiration.         A box of marbles constantly tipped back and forth, waves pound the rock beach…. Continue Reading →

The Hawk…

The Hawk… glides over treetops and rooftops, encroaching upon city limits, ignoring carefully crafted boundaries between civilization and nature as if there wasn’t a difference between the two at all. I don’t often notice its sorties into the realm of… Continue Reading →

What Must the Trees Think?

What Must the Trees Think? Anger that we lumber their siblings? Terror when the ground we frack? Pity that we have brought ourselves to the brink? Befuddlement at our human quibbling? Despair that they can’t fight back? The willow, bent… Continue Reading →

« Older posts

© 2022 The Timid Poet — Powered by WordPress

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑