behindthestacks

 MY SECRET GARDEN

BY

BARBARA STURGILL

My Secret Garden holds my story
begun so long ago
With Grandma Carrie's guiding hand
and Grandad Albert's hoe
Both teachers of the heart and soil
their care of earth and needy souls
held fast by strong belief
...and sturdy backs...
The days and years
have drifted by
as I have gathered friends
across this land
Like Wildflowers and
flighty featherd friends
I walk the garden paths
both public and my own
With "chirps" and "caws"
that soar above
but flowers all around
My Secret Garden
Grows by leaps and bounds
I'll harvest both
food and flowers
at summers end
I have learned as
any child of the earth
My Secret Garden
becomes abundent
When
sharing both
by my hand
and of my heart.

 

DAY LILY

by

BARBARA STURGILL

My limbs unfurling...
slowly...
lazily...
curling...
in the morning mist.
Petals reflect my
Maker...
planters...
sunshine...
I am at my best.
Wind whistles past
my fragrants wafts
past noses held
high above
my crest.
Misty dew collects
upon my wavy limbs
then close tight
at my days end.
But...
Siblings...
cousins...
each emerging bud...
will soon replace my form
and bless the sight
of another morn.
you see...
My roots are
deep and
there is
no end... 

WALKS IN THE WOODS

by 

EVELYN ASHER

Walks in the Woods
I don’t do blistery heat well
Rather long shadows of boughs
Kissing each other across cement
Awakening images of a second bride
Dashed returning to my desk after noon.
South Florida’s palm trees and I were odd acquaintance
Preferring giant oaks
With history and girth
Overarching limbs
Beckoning this tree hugger.
My new friend Ann suggested a walk in
Morikami before it became a real Japanese garden
Six-million-dollar makeover
Quiet then, quiet now
Four feet on a gravel path, sustained friendship.
Barry, sweet Barry jogged ahead of me in the woods
Doubling back to ensure his sweetheart
Was safe, as I feel at the moment
He is doing in life’s
Struggles.
Six years later Steve and I walked that same path
Many months in a row
At the end of a journey from
High Country to the Foothills of
Blue Ridge Mountains.
Like kids without direction
Walking, n’er a care in the world
Losing track of distance, time
Markers
Blurred by togetherness.
One mile turned into five
Perfunctory apologies at work
Where I was soon to say good bye
Willing
Adventure.
Rough Ridge
Julian Price Lake
Cascades
Trout Lake
Bass Lake changing with the seasons.

Destinations through hardwood forests
Under The Viaduct on the Blue Ridge
Vivid
digital memories
beckoning our return.
Boone Fork Trail did me in
Challenges that elicited words
Foreign to this lady’s tongue
Can’t turn back.
Can’t turn back.
No ladders or breathers on that five-mile
Moderate to some
Mt. Everest to me
Yet the woods remain my friend
Hours of footsteps –soles of poetry.
Weekend notions of trails
Don’t materialize nearly as often
Mowing for him
Computer dwindles time until she turns her steps
Favoring a solitary walk on the Greenway.
Distant woods
Clear as crystal
Heuston State Park
A lure
Waterfalls beckon once more.

 

NATURE POEMS FROM BEHIND THE STACKS MEMBERS

JUNE, 2012 MEETING IN DANIEL BOONE NATIVE GARDENS

 

 SOLSTICE EVE

by

BEVERLY FINNEY

Sitting near the open window I can see the field,
fresh mown this morning, it's shorn terraces exposed,
like softly rolling waves of stubble coming in at low tide.
Nearby, fat barrels of golden hay, cinched up in girders
of twine, are tipped over like ponderous spoils of a hunt.
Past the fence, three oaks and a lone persimmon stand
among the pines, all dark against the washed out sky.
A row of young maples flutters in a curved chorus line
along the silver ribbon of gravel unraveling toward
the tidy house at its end a quarter mile away.
Even for the south in June the weather is too warm,
unchanged by the slight tepid breeze, but tomorrow's
summer solstice promises to bear straight down leaving
only stunted shadows and a predicted 90-degree high.
Though a resolute feathered flock sweeps in spirals
over the field, lighting and rising as a single airy veil,
the morning song birds are mostly silent this midday,
wisely seeking shelter in some quiet shady retreat.
The coyote who left his scat out by the shed, I am sure,
has taken a wooded refuge, and though I haven't looked,
the black snake, too, has surely laid out his furtive length
in that shed today, on his usual reclusive ledge.
Two little donkeys braying in a harsh duet in the distance
this morning have stopped their plaints for now, and the four
somber Brahmas huddle in the shade of their lean-to barn.
There are times to be silent, times to retreat and rest,
when the world around is less than hospitable, roiled
in the frothy boil of bustle, the too-bright moments of reality,
and the stifling, unrelenting press of managed time.
There are times to be silent, times to seek cool refuge
in a serene inviting place, a quiet contemplative respite
through an open window to the simple wisdom beyond.

TO MY BROTHER AND SISTER POETS

(dedicated to Behind the Stacks)

by 

PAULA FINCK

A brief two hours a month
Help to nourish our souls
As we make our separate ways
Toward the light and dark.
Each cell clinging to life
Reaffirmation, it is good,
To laugh and cry mixing
Emotions to the bone.
Honing our skills to share
The essence of who we are
Leaving, returning and
Returning to blossom again.
Behind the stacks comes out
This summer day to voice
Our love of nature
To the flowers and birds.
Our words free to travel
With the wind on waves
Unseen but heard by all
Who are waiting to listen.
Each bird and poet
Singing their own song
Together we will create
The message of unity.

 SUMMER SOLSTICE SONG

by

BETSY MCREE

Search for silent sounds of summer;
Step into the soft warm air…look…
Trees in leafy shirts give shade everywhere;
A sudden flash of scarlet wings surprises;
Simple tiny flowers in sunny spots;
Fragrant smell of shrubs on the slope;
Steady buzz of insects tasting sweet, sticky nectar;
Soft breezes sweeping through sunlit dappled fields;
Green ferns stretching up through soggy soil
atop a solid stone bank;
A nearby stream flows softly over sandy bed;
The moving shadow of a hawk sailing overhead;

I hear the song without words…no sounds…
Yet shouting:
“Summer is here!
Enjoy this very
special summer season
of the year!”

 

SUMMER SOLSTICE HAIKU

BY

BETSY MCREE

Summer solstice day, 
Please, oh please, don’t go away;
Can’t you pause and stay?

Whatever some will say
May I have more time to play?
Please don’t go away!

Summer solstice day;
Longest day of all the year;
Too soon gone I fear.

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