Today’s Daily Create asks for a poem about weather forecasts. I look at many weather maps of Scotland, then write a haiku.
October forecast:
Rain, followed by rain, then rain
Good weather for ducks
“Ducks” flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
Today’s Daily Create asks us to
Look out of your actual window and then open a nature webcam from somewhere in the world. (here is the home of nature webcams via the US National Park Service) Write a poem that bridges these two views, exploring the connection between your local environment and a distant ecosystem.
I chose the Bald Eagle cam at Sauces Canyon Nest.
“Sauces Canyon Bald Eagle Nest” flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
And contrasted it with a recent view of the birdfeeder in our garden
“276 Collared Doves” flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
Small birds visit our garden,
Robins, tits and doves,
Dropping in for a daily feed,
Safe from the bald eagles resting in their nest across the globe
I don’t believe in God, the afterlife, or supernatural forces. I do believe in coincidence, in seeing patterns in nature and finding meaning when you look for it.
Mum loved ducks – there are ducks throughout her house. Pictures of ducks, plastic ducks, wooden ducks. Every time I see a duck I think of mum.
Mum died on Thursday morning. On Friday afternoon, on the way back from saying goodbye, we stopped as usual at Tebay Service Station, bought coffee and cake and sat in the café to admire the view. As we sat and looked over the pond I thought of mum with more than one tear in my eye.
“Ducks at Tebay” flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license.
Back at home on Saturday I shuffled the pages of my daily calendar to find the page for the day – and stopped with a smile. What a lovely picture for my weekend.
“Ducks on a Riverbank” flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
And then yesterday morning, as I was pottering around the garden I noticed that we had a fuchsia in bloom – a present from mum soon after we moved into this house 12 years ago, and the first time I’ve seen it flower.
“288 Fuchsia” flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
Lovely reminders of a mother who loved me, and who I loved.
Today’s Daily Create is to write an ode to Father Time
O silent keeper of all things,
You move unseen through shadows cast,
With footsteps soft, yet never still.
The stars align, the tides obey,
All yield to you—relentless, vast.
Your hands are weathered, old as stone,
Yet you are ageless, ever new.
You mend, you break, you heal, you mar,
A sculptor’s chisel, carving through,
Unveiling lives in cycles far.
A child’s first cry, an elder’s sigh,
The bloom of youth, the winter’s breath—
You’re there, a witness to our change,
A fleeting gift, a final debt,
Each heartbeat passing in your range.
Unseen you turn the seasons’ wheel,
And all our clocks are but your play.
What power lies in your domain,
For all we are, and all we’ll be,
Is woven in your endless skein.
And though we chase, and though we flee,
There is no place to hide, to wait,
For when you call, we go as one—
Forever caught within your fate,
Eternal father of the sun.
“Take something to remind you of her”, they suggest.
“I already have”, I say.
In the cookbooks you gave me, the marks of my cooking throughout their pages,
In the jugs and vases dotted around the house, the result of many years happy scavenging together,
In the poetry books on my shelves, purloined from yours over the years,
In the pictures on my walls, presents from you to remind me of home.
I don’t need objects to remind me of you.
But everywhere I look I can see your love.
Today’s Daily Create is to write an ode to Mother Earth.
Oh gentle Earth, beneath our feet,
Your patient pulse, your rhythmic beat,
In verdant fields and oceans wide,
You cradle all in arms so wide.
From mountain peak to forest deep,
Your mysteries you guard and keep.
In every leaf, in every stone,
Your quiet grace, your ancient throne.
The rivers sing, the wind replies,
A symphony beneath the skies.
You gift us soil, the air, the seas,
The fruits we pluck, the shade of trees.
Yet how we bruise and how we mar,
The bounty that you’ve placed afar.
Still, with each dawn, you rise anew,
Forgiving all we fail to do.
So let us pause, with reverent heart,
And pledge anew, a kinder start.
For you, dear Earth, our lives sustain,
In sun and storm, in joy and pain.
“285 Ducks at Tebay” flickr photo by NomadWarMachine shared under a Creative Commons (BY-NC-SA) license
She slips away gradually
Retreating from the trivia of everyday life
The daily paper resting, unread, upon her lap –
Sometimes she notices and is surprised to find it still unopened –
No more Suduko, no more politics
(This latter is a relief to her left-wing children!)
Her mind folds in: a moth without a flame
As her body tells her it is time to leave.
Today’s Daily Create asks us to share a poem in celebration of National Poetry Day, with this year’s theme being counting. I chose a Shakespeare Sonnet:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;And every fair from fair sometime declines,By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;But thy eternal summer shall not fade,Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
And used a N+ generator to remix it. Here’s the N+8 version:
Shall I competition thee to a summer’s deadline?
Thou artist more lovely and more temperate:
Routine windpipes do shampoo the date buffers of May,
And summer’s lectureship hath all too short a daze;
Sometime too hot the eyepiece of heed shines,
And often is his goner composition dimm’d;
And every falcon from falcon sometime deductions,
By chant or nature’s changing courtyard untrimm’d;
But thy eternal sunbeam shall not fade,
Nor lose postcode of that falcon thou ow’st;
Nor shall debt branch thou wander’st in his shallot,
When in eternal linguists to tin thou grow’st:
So long as mandolins can breathe or eyepieces can see,
So long lives this, and this gives lift to thee.
