Where Earth Meets the Sky

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Today I sat beside a stream
Watched a Titmouse take a bath
Listened to the birds that sing
While ants crawled on the path
Flowers bloomed in warm sunlight
Tall and strong with heads of yellow
Swaying there with smiles so bright
Nature’s garden is waving hello
The air was cool // the sun was hot
Above my head the willows sigh
In the shade’s my chosen spot
‘Tis a perfect place I sighed
So there I sat the morning out
While bees buzzed round close by
Thought to myself // no need to pout
Where earth meet the sky

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Exponential

powers of 10

The coronovirus outbreak may seem small in the US at the moment, but for an untreatable virus on the loose it is important to understand the exponential component of it all. I am not a math person by any means, but the chart above shows how ten persons who have the virus could spread it to a hundred, which would spread to a thousand, etc. By the time it is shared six times it is already up to a millon; Therefore, it is important to take it all seriously and realize it will multiply exponentially as we saw happen in China. Be safe and protect yourself. Take precautions, and this too will pass.

Exponential growth
All must take precautions now
Birds are still singing

Chart from Bing Images

When I Hear Birds Sing

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I sit amazed that each one knows their tune
Always on pitch they sing from morn till noon.
Perhaps birds love singing only one song;
Unending melody //making her swoon.
But how does a bird hatched out of an egg?
Know what tune to sing on their tiny legs?
And why don’t they try another’s sweet song?
Getting mixed up //and from another begs
I think bird melodies are meant to blend.
Like flutes in a symphony // all join in;
With harmonized beauty they sing their song.
Each plays a part // sweet symphony begins

Today we are experimenting with writing rubaiyats with our d’Verse group. Frank is our host and asked us to write one using the one of the forms suggested.
A single ruba’i is a quatrain, a poem of four lines. If there is a collection of more than one quatrain, it is called a rubaiyat, This is what Edward FitzGerald titled his 1859 translation of Omar Khayyam’s quatrains. The pattern can be AABA or AAAA.
I am using the first pattern in my poem.
Come join us at: https://dversepoets.com

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Symphony

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The Woodland Symphony

Music pours out from shadow and tree

Calling us all to enjoy a reprieve

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A melodious symphony straight from the heart

Each tiny instrument playing its part

Miniature voices in perfect pitch

Unwritten scores of notes that are rich

Filled with a beauty beyond man or pen

A symphony of music that will never end

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Mocking birds solo sopranos and basses

Finding their notes in so many spaces

Piccolo warblers and wren solos start

Antiphonal melodies straight from the heart

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The bassoon bull frog comes in now and then

Cicadas’ strings play background blends

Crickets and blue jays fill the air

The snare of the trees adds depth to the pair

Woodpeckers drumming on old hollow trees

A staccato rhythm that floats on the breeze

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Suddenly right out of the blue

The feline conductor brings all in on cue

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With a growing crescendo from blue jay and friends

Celloed instruments calling, “This is the end!”

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The squirrel plays percussion with his raspy scolding

As the woods fills with music the finale’s unfolding

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A thunderous applause from the balcony on high

Brings all to their feet flashes crossing the sky

The concert is over the conductor’s gone home

Performers take bows the music is gone

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

The Woodland Symphony

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Sitting in my Adirondack Chair down by the creek that flows into the woods, I listened to the birds singing in the trees above me.  When all was calm they did their random chirping. I could hear the squirrels chattering at each other. The woodpecker worked on his nest in the rotten Maple behind me. The bullfrog croaked from the mud in the creek. There were songs for different things that were happening. I noticed when a hawk or a cat came by, all of the birds began raise a ruckus. I thought to myself, this is just like listening to a symphony. I got my small computer and began writing the Woodland Symphony.  This poem is the end result.

The Woodland Symphony

Music pours out from shadow and tree

Calling us all to enjoy a reprieve

 

A melodious symphony straight from the heart

Each tiny instrument playing its part

Miniature voices in perfect pitch

Unwritten scores of notes that are rich

Filled with a beauty beyond man or pen

A symphony of music that will never end

 

Mocking birds solo sopranos and basses

Finding their notes in so many spaces

Piccolo warblers and wren solos start

 Antiphonal melodies straight from the heart

 

The bassoon bull frog comes in now and then

Cicadas’ strings play background blends

Crickets and blue jays fill the air

The snare of the trees adds depth to the pair

Woodpeckers drumming on old hollow trees

A staccato rhythm that floats on the breeze

 

Suddenly right out of the blue

The feline conductor brings all in on cue

With a growing crescendo from blue jay and friends

Celloed instruments calling, “This is the end!”

The squirrel plays percussion with his raspy scolding

As the woods fills with music the finale’s unfolding

 

A thunderous applause from the balcony on high

Brings all to their feet flashes crossing the sky

The concert is over the conductor’s gone home

Performers take bows the music is gone

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