autumn leaves rustle
the tension out of me
on pleasant breezy days
sunlit gentle tree, i am
a ragdoll under your sway
sun
Angles
The sun shines different ways in summer and winter. And we shine differently in the seasons of our lives.
Kindling
Every dawn relights my soul.
Rain & shine
Many things happen rain or shine, but rainbows are so special they happen
Green grace
as earth sways us from winter to spring
nature begins her grace of glorious green
Clock work
flowers don’t open to the clock
but to the sunshine spontaneous—
for modern humans that manner
of instinct is now extraneous
Early bird
That trusty mockingbird —
you can set your sundial by it.
Sky-happy
foggy heavy-gray teary-eyed low-hanging
snow-stuffed melancholy winter clouds
impulsive wayward turbulent thick-swift-dark
tempestuous hail-angered storm clouds
sprinkling lighthearted fanciful breeze-drifted
rainbow-nestled April-hued springtime clouds
enormous white-fluffy fairydust-fringed
frolicsome sun-illumed carefree summer clouds
thunderous intense restless rain-soaked
lightning-streaked July-dyed monsoon clouds
azure-skylit sunglow-slanted edge-gleaming
white-silver billowy contemplative autumn clouds
vivid vibrant blissful dawn-lit joy-beamed
daybreak-florid sunrise-tinted morning clouds
aimless airy midday-lazy wandering listless
mountaintop-floating leisurely afternoon clouds
amber-ablaze day’s-end-pink ephemeral-amethyst
evening-welcome smoky-embered sunset clouds
lambent star-flanked luminous moon-halo’d
glowing shadow-painted skygazers’ night clouds
Westerly
sunset casts shadows
yet we see only colors
and glorious light
Stragglers
bird alights on branch
mottled-lit golden leaves fall
drifting like feathers
Inner light
If you keep a sunny attitude, you will glow like a rainbow when life gets stormy.
Desert winter storm
tiny icy hail
falls slantwise through streaming sun
melting to rainbow
XXXI
My stiff-spread arms
Break into sudden gesture;
My feet seize upon the rhythm;
My hands drag it upwards:
Thus I create the dance.
I drink of the red bowl of the sunlight:
I swim through seas of rain:
I dig my toes into earth:
I taste the smack of the wind:
I am myself:
I live.
The temples of the gods are forgotten or in ruins:
Professors are still arguing about the past and the future:
I am sick of reading marginal notes on life,
I am weary of following false banners:
I desire nothing more intensely or completely than this present;
There is nothing about me you are more likely to notice than my being:
Let me therefore rejoice silently,
A golden butterfly glancing against an unflecked wall.
—John Gould Fletcher (1886–1950), “XXXI,” Irradiations, 1915