Posts Tagged ‘nature’
places for writers … writing workshops – part two
Sometimes the ‘place’ experienced at a writing workshop is the local area, the community where the workshop is held. I wrote this poem in 2014 after a writing workshop at WordSpring in Saint Andrews (New Brunswick) …
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‘oak leaves and acorns’
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encounters
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on a windy night
in Saint Andrews, a toad
out of place, hop-toddies across
the street
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also, on Prince of Wales, a deer
pauses on the sidewalk, stares
up the hill, and I hesitate
before driving on
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in the Algonquin, a light
switches on, in the room I know is mine
and a couple huddles on the hotel porch
their attitude more suited to summer
than a night when leaves skip
mottled across the street
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Previously published in ‘writing weekend’, June, 2014, http://www.nichepoetryandprose.wordpress.com
Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
ceiling of stars
gaps in the roof, Smyth Covered Bridge, April, 2015
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ceiling of stars
(Smyth Covered Bridge – South Oromocto River #2)
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left to the years
to frost heaves, wind
and winter storms
the roof-skin peels
away
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crisscross layers
gaps between boards
shape tiny squares
and sunlight spills
between
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afternoon stars
constellations
and raindrops ooze
saucepans to catch
the drips
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deafening, would
scare swallows, field
mice, snowshoe hares
and spiders, all
away
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
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Smyth Covered Bridge, Mill Settlement, New Brunswick
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in the shelter of the covered bridge – through a spider’s web
April 4, 2015 ‘web’ Jane Tims
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web
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after the rain,
says the spider,
I am purveyor of worlds
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peer through my web
800 raindrops
inverse images
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each a replica
of roof, walls and passageway
joists and beams
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loops of lenses
strands of crossing
binocular bracelets
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built a web to catch
the rain? I don’t think so
but insects never came to call
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so I am content
with captured
covered bridges
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swimmers, girls gone fishing
and the occasional
Chevrolet
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
words from the woodland – where branches touch
‘birch trees’ Jane Tims
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fear of heights
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as dizzying to look up
in the forest
as down
into the abyss
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the trees taper so
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they lean
water birch
against fir
rubbed raw
where branches touch
or reach for one another
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and sudden, wrenching sounds
a branch swings back or breaks
loosed by a squirrel
burdened where crows complain
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or where a warbler scolds
teacher teacher teacher
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
words from the woodland – bird song
I have a lot of projects underway, mostly on the ‘administrative’ side of writing. I have been ordering and revising a manuscript of poems on abandoned aspects of our landscape ( see https://nichepoetryandprose.wordpress.com/2015/01/19/first-and-last-and-in-between/ ). Now, I have reached the point where I really need to set the manuscript aside so I can approach it with a fresh eye in a couple of weeks. So I will use the days between to order another manuscript of poems about sounds from the woodland. The poems mostly use animal and bird sounds and songs as metaphors for human communication.
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Some of these poems have been around a while, packaged in another form. In the last weeks, I have been thinking about the bird song metaphor and now I am ready to consider the poems in relation to one-another. Perhaps I am responding to the Black-capped Chickadees, chattering in the Tamarack. Or the Hairy Woodpecker who comes every few days to beat his head against our telephone pole. Perhaps I am thinking more than usual about human communication (having just learned to ‘Twitter’).
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January 8, 2012 ‘two Mourning Doves’ Jane Tims
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drawing doves
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‘… cease to mourn …’
Virgil, Eclogue I
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grey sighs beneath graphite
or where eraser softens
troubled feathers
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doves lament, disturb
fine detail, mourn
the fingers’ tremble
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pencil strokes beak
and fingernails, kernels
of corn, husks of sunflower
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
thwarting the squirrels
Feeding the birds provides me with hours of enjoyment in winter. However, bird feed is costly when marauders come to call. I have watched with dismay as the tongue of a single deer laps up every morsel of sunflower seed. Or laughed as the squirrel eats peanuts from inside the squirrel-resistant bird feeder. Lately, a very fat raccoon has emptied our suet feeder night after night.
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Last weekend, we rigged something new to see if we could reserve at least one feeder just for the birds. The idea is courtesy of my friends A. and D. who showed me how well the contraption works at their bird feeding station.
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The idea is simple. We stretched a sturdy cord between two trees at a height of about seven feet. On the cord, we strung six empty 2 liter pop bottles. We tried all sorts of ways to drill holes in the plastic and found that a screwdriver heated over a candle flame melted a neat hole in the bottom center of each bottle. Then we put a metal s-hook between the two center bottles and hung the feeder. The squirrels will try to walk the tightrope to get to the feeder, but when they reach the pop bottles, these spin and the squirrels cannot hang on.
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After one week, the squirrels and raccoon have left this feeder alone. They still have some food to eat at the other feeder, but at least the seed in this one is reserved for the birds! As you can see, the snow banks are getting higher and soon the squirrels will be skipping across the surface of the snow to reach the feeder. Higher please!
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
small green world
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As I gradually put away my Christmas decorations, I am a little sad about disassembling the vignettes I created – a group of carolers skating on a mirror pond, a serene stable scene, a lighted Christmas village.
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To see me through the rest of winter I have created another small world in a glass cloche, a moss and lichen garden under glass. I picked the moss before the first December snow and it has done well for a month. The moss leaves are bright and there is new growth on some of the lichen tips. The terrarium even has its own little climate and ‘weather’ – days when the glass is clear and dry, and days when the glass is foggy and you can see a faint mist among the mosses.
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I love the ‘green-ness’ of this miniature world. Green mosses, sheltered by the green leaves of my Lipstick Vine (Aeschynanthus lobbianus) and guarded by my green, four-clawed Chinese dragon. Green candles.
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While the world outside is cold and white, I have this tiny green world to remind me – spring is only weeks away.
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Copyright 2015 Jane Tims
new layer of snow
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Snow is gradually building on every horizontal surface. I love the contrast between umber bark and bright snow. If this layer of snow will only stay, the temperatures will seem warmer and the walking less slippery. And the movements of small creatures in our woods will be less ephemeral, better understood.
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tracks in the snow
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
December garlands
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in December
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we gather pine cones
wreaths of lion’s paw
hawthorn, cedar boughs
and juniper
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we walk the wild ways
pruners and scissors
baskets and stout cord
to bind bunches of
branches
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balsam and holly
berries and garlands
of evergreen, red
rosehips and acorns,
gilded, needles and
thorns
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© Jane Tims 2014
sharing the grey woods
a poor photo of a ruffed grouse in one of the trees behind our house
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We share our grey woods with so many plants and animals. Sadly, our interactions do not always benefit the wild life.
The big panes of glass in our picture windows have brought disaster to so many birds. If the sun shines just right, the glass is like a mirror. When a bird sees the reflection of trees and sky, it must think it is flying deeper into the woods. I find keeping the window curtains closed removes the mirror illusion and prevents some collisions.
Sometimes, we will hear a thump and by the time we investigate, the bird will have recovered. Sometimes the bird is not so lucky.
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Heartbeat
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alive in morning birdsong thud thud thudding in my ears
slow as a pulse then faster final beats too quick to count
a spruce grouse in the thicket on a mound of leaves
drumming for a mate
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all day
I thought of him
and smiled
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buried in evening birdsong a thud on the window
the partridge sighing in the grass
tail narrowed feathers ruffled at his neck oddly bent
fingers on his throat
faint flutter
blood from his beak
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I smoothed him into a mound of dead leaves
inspected the window
a feather stuck to the glass
moved as though nostrils drew faint breath
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nothing broken
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
