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Poet's Platform Column | 19 Oct 06

by Janet Nesler | The Scioto Voice | Wheelersburg, Ohio


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Coming Here

Coming here near timber line,
quiet so deep stars so bright
the Milky Way a blanket
of Christmas lights.

Coming here to quiet a mind full of doubts,
once again to regain trust in my thoughts.
Throwing away sleeping pills,
casting away the need for evening news.

Coming here where cold water rushes
and wind helps recall past dreams,
past plans never resurrected
now breathed new life.

Coming here where animals have no fear,
maybe I too can see the road ahead,
not fear, walk on
as I was meant too.

Coming here to be reborn
in sun and wind.
Ready to go where life leads.

Robert W. Kimsey
McCaysville, GA
From “Paths From The Shawnee Spring”

A Doe’s Gift

If you follow the sign to the top of the right hand ridge
and drop off the saddle, back into the clear cut
until there is no place to go,
a fox squirrel will give you the scuttlebutt
of a different kind of day surrounding new life
through an invisible doe.

If you listen quietly as the coyotes do,
you may hear a faint snort,
but the olfactory senses detect nothing
that is seemingly new, as the breeze against you
gives its fickle report.

What wondrous messenger
painted the brush filled undergrowth
to cover her while the briars so sword like
stand guardian over this harsh scene,
but yet in spirit to hold refined.

Not one, not two, but three lives
have been carried to this place
to fill the heart of the forest here
and give meaning
to a word called grace.

On that day as they venture into the meadow
far below the clear cut’s growth,
I see their nervous flags
as behind their mother
they do go.

Just one more time in a universe
That has left me still,
I take heart in these four lives
that come from a loving,
yet stronger will.

Nicholas Johnson
From “A View From Sheepranch Hollow”



Our life is passing faster by each day,
Our eyes are open but we do not see
Events we should grab now and store away
In preparation for eternity.
Our ears are tuned up yet we do not hear
Repeated helpless cries of dying earth;
When songbirds in the forests disappear
We’ll miss their songs and then we’ll feel no mirth.
We feel soft breezes blowing everywhere
And give no thought to why its gentle sway
Caresses us in nature’s loving care
Until dark clouds blot out the sun each day.
We taste the sweetness from the gathering bees
And give no thought to how they work for hours
To pollinate grain fields and flowering trees,
Until we search the fields and find no flowers.

Edna Keffer
From “Poems and other Writings”





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