Mountains

River 1

Let’s go back to the mountains,

even if it’s for a short time,

I need to have my mind and soul restored,

we can hold hands,

and have the sun warm our faces,

maybe we could sprout some wings,

and go far, far beyond,

the problems of this world.

But hold on to me,

once I’m soaring again,

I may not want to come back down,

you and I

wing to wing,

flying.

 Osprey Portrait

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

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The Osprey

Osprey and Fish

Winged power folded, patient,

waiting, for the next hunt,

then strength launching, flying higher,

circling, surveying the water,

soaring, measuring, calculating,

estimating, distance from the target

when the time is right –

the dive!

A missile propelling downward,

one hundred miles an hour,

extending talons, piercing the water,

grasping the target, and pulling up,

all at the same time.

The majesty of the hunter,

created to be – the fish hawk.

Osprey Side View

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

A Human Being

Fall in the Forest

 

This office building oppresses me,

it tries to tell me I have no identity,

filing papers, and pushing buttons,

like everyone else,

I need the wholeness of the earth,

the wisdom of the sky,

and the restoration of the water,

so I can be free,

and creative,

not a number, a place

where the Creator can speak to me,

and I can listen from the heart,

hearing peaceful strength,

and I truly can become,

a human being, once again.

 

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Horses of the Plains

Beautiful Paint

Controlled fury, pounding, sweeping,

over the plains, coming up from the south,

nostrils flaring, breathing in the power,

heart racing, legs a blur,

chest and lungs heaving, muscles

out pacing the deer,

over running the buffalo,

swerving, turning, in and out

of the herd, dodging the horns,

watching the lance fly,

the arrows falling like rain, on the target,

stopping on a dime, given the command.

And when the hunt is over,

still barely tame, yet a friend

controlled fury helping

the people to be free.

Warrior and Painted Horse

 

 

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

The Cabin

I’ll send you a post card,

once I glue myself back together.

I receive healing,

putting another log on the fire,

red rocks and pine trees for neighbors.

Have you ever laid on the hood of your car,

and stared at the Big Dipper?

Cold autumn air, freeing my mind,

breathing life.

Don’t worry I’ll be back to the city soon,

I need people,

I’m already missing my brothers and sisters,

but, right now I’m carving some wood.

Pine Tree

 

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

The Trails

The Trails

The sun was dawning that frosty morning.

I needed the woods, and said a prayer,

putting on my coat, knit hat,

then out the door. Stomach in a knot,

I was 18, my family fighting

the night before, Mom breaking

dishes.

Now quietly walking, the earth invited me,

seeing my breath,

and loving the air,

I entered the woods. Walking,

the huge oak, offering strength,

leaning,

trees and I upright,

still standing, deep in the woods,

signs of deer,

pieces of my soul coming together,

especially down by the big rock,

next to the creek. I looked up,

and saw a hawk in the sky.

Watching over me, wings outstretched,

I thought, “What a great name that would be”

Hawk in the Sky.

I was restored, in the peace,

in the woods, along the trails.

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree

Rusted Dreams

Rusted Dreams

How am I going to have a farm,

now, that I am this old?

Stiff lower back, gray hair,

knees cracking, and creaking,

rust, with medications.

Thinking, because of the old plow,

abandoned in the yard,

of the antique store.

Nostalgic decoration,

that’s the way I feel sometimes.

I miss the yurt,

I never lived in

and the Kyrgyz,

of Central Asia,

the smell of goats,

family around the fire.

I may never live with

the Lakota or the Cheyenne

on the Great Plains,

but I could still have a farm,

and some sanity, with fresh air.

Tenderly coaxing the soil,

reaping the rewards,

of hard work,

getting up the same time,

without driving to the city.

I’d be taking care of animals,

an occasional cow

stepping on my foot,

but no insults, no pressure,

from the boss.

I may yet buy a farm,

just for spite!

Fighting against the rust.

Time, for me to take another pill,

blood pressure,

missing the outdoors.

 

 

 

© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree