The Waves Remember

Vacation 876

The waves were speaking,

again today,

that there is more to life,

than death,

that sadness comes to an end,

and that we will be free.

No one ever sees the end,

or the beginning,

but the waves remember,

that rocks are temporary,

and that the earth is sand.

There is a beauty,

a hopefulness,

in comprehending,

the reality beyond the waves,

strength in knowing,

we are larger than the ocean,

in spite of the pain.

Singing is only one sign,

that the heart lives on,

joy is another.

I am strengthened,

when I hear the waves remember,

and speak to us,

of eternity.



Blessings to everyone and peace!

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

The Doves

flying doves

When I see the doves,

I know there is some tenderness, left in this world,

in spite of the hawks,

and the crows making loud noises,

the doves are always gentle,

always determined to be,


Under the surface,

I think they are fighters,

fighting for peace,

and always faithful, watching,

their love, the strength of two.

I’m not sure a dove would ever speak to me,

but if he did,

I think he would say, keep loving,

keep the peace in your heart,

guard it and keep it safe.

And always,

always be faithful, be gentle,

in spite of, the hawks and the crows.


 love of doves

Blessings to everyone and PEACE!

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

Poetry © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

image from google

Will You Be There?


If I reach for the sky,

will you be there?

or will there only be the night,

the darkness, the emptiness,

we see from the earth?

I don’t want to be disappointed.

If you are there,

will I be able to feel,

Your presence surrounding me?

would you understand,

my doubt and pain?

Then He showed me the mountains,

the rivers, and lakes,

in a vision,

and He said, “I am here now”

“what do you see?”

I said, “I see peace.”

“…and that You are very real.”

He understood me,

and I know now,

that the many gifts of nature,

are for us all,

so we can see,

so we can comprehend.


Note: This poem was inspired by Mary Youngblood’s song, Reach for the Sky.

Blessings to everyone and PEACE!

Poetry © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

images from google

The Black Bear

black bear on ridge

The American Black Bear is the most numerous species of bear in the world. There are hundreds of thousands of them in the United States, and more in Canada. At one time they ranged throughout North America, and into Central America. Their range now spans heavily forested, sparsely populated areas in North America, which includes, Canada, the East Coast Mountains, the Pacific Northwest, the Rocky Mountains, and some of the Southwest, United States. They are endangered only in Mexico. Their range also includes a small portion of Central America. There are bears not far from where I live!

The American Black Bear is closely related to the Asian Black Bear. Surprisingly, it is not very closely related to the two much larger species of bears in North America, the Polar Bear, and the Brown Bear. I have seen these bears up close, and had a friend that went way too close, when the bear was hunting! Please remember these animals may look cuddly, but they are wild and can be quite dangerous. Never feed a bear!


Blessings to everyone and PEACE!

Writing © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

image from google

video from youtube

Two Wolves – Part I



He wanted to make his father and mother proud. He left the village long before sunrise, with his favorite pony, the brown, with the white blanket on her back. The weather was strange, and she was skittish, so he walked with her, and led her with a rope. It was not only dark, but there was a thick fog. It was warm and cold, at the same time, and the air was wet. Both of them could hardly see. He knew the deer paths well though, so in a short time they were far from the village. He expected to get in trouble later for going hunting by himself, but after all, he was 14 years old now.

He heard a wolf howling in the distance, but thought nothing of it, he was probably calling to his mate. They walked further, into a valley he did not know. He took his bow off his back and decided to get ready in case he saw something. He was hoping for a large deer, or maybe even a woodlands buffalo. These buffalo traveled in much smaller herds than the ones on the plains.

There was that wolf howling again, off to his right, and closer now. Another howl came from his left, as if to answer. He could not see, but daylight was beginning, and he would feel much better, as soon as the sun was up. His pony stomped, and snorted. She was becoming more nervous by the moment. He stood there listening, as two more howls came, one from the left and one from the right. They were both closer. He crouched, trying not to show his pony that he too was nervous. He waited, crouching, and listening. An arrow slid into his bow.

The sun made its presence known, but now all they could see were shadows, in the thick fog. A twig snapped close to him, on the right. His pony panicked, pulled the rope out of his hand, and ran away in the direction they had come. Two more howls came from each side of him, and they were very close. He heard rustling in the bushes, and then on the right he heard the animal so close that he could hear it panting. Was that a shadow? He did not move but his bow was ready. He slowly, instinctively reached for his large hunting knife, to make sure it was still there.

He began to panic, and remembered something his Grandfather, Lone Horse had taught him. He sensed the earth. It was calm, and he became more relaxed.

To be continued in Part II

Writing © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree




One river with different streams,

occasionally writing with a broken faucet,

waving your hand but the sensor

not responding, knowing the water is there.

Thinking and praying about inspiration,

What was his heart saying?

Wilderness, nature with colors,

Native Americans coming alive,

the beauty of culture,

loving the people. Horses.

Culture always speaking with gold,

from around the world. Asia, Africa.

And love. His wife the librarian,

an endless resource, a river

herself, sparkling with diamonds.

Faith is important to him, but that’s not why he writes,

too many crusaders, outside with banners waving,

he did not want that,

no preaching, but painting,

something beautiful. Colors.


   Edouard Manet 1882
Edouard Manet 1882




Writing © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree