Anticipation

A poem in the form of a Japanese Tanka.

Grey marbled clouds
rolling across the sky,
on the earth below
life awaits a moist kiss
from nature’s pursed lips.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Storm

In the west skies have darkened,
roiling morning clouds advance.
The sun lies hidden in the east,
a grey cloak over its face.
Pregnant mares thunder overhead,
their hooves beating a drum roll.
There is a scent on the wind,
Mother Nature’s elemental perfume.
Earthy, calming, full of promise,
Gaea toils to bring forth life,
her sweet sweat seminal.
All existence pauses in anticipation,
Obedience to the wonder of creation.

©2012, Donald Harbour

Pluperfect

From the corner of my eye
I could see black birds feasting,
No flesh wasted that is consumed.
The world turned on its axis,
The sun racing the seasons,
No day wasted that has not dawned.
Somewhere it is raining,
Falling upon mother’s breast,
No plant wasted that is suckled.
Two lovers entwine their souls,
A kiss to seal their vow,
No commitment is wasted by passion.
Time arrives in each beggars hand,
It is the taker of immortality,
No moment is wasted by eternity.
Staring in the eyes of a baby,
Feeling the grasp of a tiny hand,
No one is wasted by redemption.
Around each of us there is reason,
Cause to inhale the miracle of life,
No choice is wasted that is given.

©2011, Donald Harbour

It’s a jungle out there

The rain is falling in torrents,
Somewhere high above Spring’s pitcher
tips and the water cascades over
the rim of the mile high clouds.
Creatures are draped in soaked
giant Elephant Ear  leaves .
The plain is festooned with mushrooms,
umbrellas clutched against the wind.
All the hippopotamuses, rhinos, and
wildebeests mix with the sharks,
the lions and birds of paradise.
The herd is on the move, sloshing,
Snorting at the elephants waiting
on the other side of the crossing.
A monkey wearing white gloves
whistles at the multitude and waves.
Another trail fills with scrambling
leather and rubber clad hooves.
There is no sound from them,
they do not exchange glances or
touch, their space never shared.
But, there is fear in their eyes.
Fear that instead of eating,
they will be the ones eaten.
It’s a jungle out there, in the city.

Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour