A Greek tragedy

The honey red heifer is birthing,
a difficult calving under monstrous
roiling dark bellied storm clouds,

She has chosen to offer up her gift,
under a twisted, gnarled, ancient tree ,
the only old guardian of the pastures.

She bellows not understanding it is necessary.
In the midst of her agony the Hyades
conspire to muffle her wild-eyed complaints.

The bowels of the fields are bulging,
constipated with swollen verdant seeds,
anticipating an elixir from above.

These grassy tarns of seasonal
vivacity will explode, grasping
the pastures fertile beckoning thighs,

a rapturous rupture of the soil, an
orgasm of awakening to satisfy
the heavenly rain spiked thrusts.

In the midst of April’s tribulation
a nocturnal nuisance has arrived,
raucous, unyielding in its annoyance.

Somewhere in the fence hedge, above
natures pious conversation, piercing
the vernal bacchanal of the night,

a feathered creature speaks in
full tenor timbre, Pavarotti incarnate,
it choruses the drama of this Greek

tragedy, played out in the amphitheater
of creation. Will there be life, or, the
tearful damning gloom of death.

Thor’s mighty hammer dispels
the Stygian darkness with crackling
light, a proctor quieting the class.

With a pause, sweet as the kiss of dew,
there is a gasp of all the calamity.
Mother Nature gathers her children, watching.

Life has arrived in a wet gelatinous
blanket, loved with soft brown eyes
and a lick for the first calf of spring.

©2014, Donald Harbour

Baptism of life

Storms rolled in last night,
I have not slept much,
Not because they were disturbing
No, I marvel at their sounds,
Thor dashing bolts between clouds
Then clearing his throat,
The gentle patter of rain,
Nourishing tears from Freya,
The earth does not rebel, it basks,
Turning its face to the roiling sky,
Accepting the moisture on parched lips,
I wonder why humans avoid storms,
Huddling beneath canvas canopies,
Scurrying from the gods gift,
Complaining when it arrives,
Then complaining when there is none,
Maybe that is why there are droughts,
Punishment for not accepting the gift,
Last night there was forgiveness,
Standing in the backyard, drenched,
I gave thanks in wondrous joy,
Pleasured by Mother Natures love,
Bathed in her life-giving baptism.

2013, Donald Harbour