~ Sandy Reynolds ~




Click or scroll for Sandy's poems:

Cypress Trees

Blackfoot

Pearls

Tattered Wings



 Sandy's Archive at The Critical Poet           Nature Poets home









Cypress Trees



What was God thinking when He made
those frightful, ugly cypress trees?
The ones with gnarls and knotted knees that scare away
the baby trolls...
the ones with limbs of warts and arms that grab the water toads...
the ones with roots that tap the river bed.

Once upon a raging storm when the river ran to wild, wild Sea,
the cypress clung to the bottom mud..offered limbs as boats
to tiny toads and baby trolls.
A water nymph with a drowning crew
built an ark from a knotted knee...
what was God thinking when He
made those lovely, lovely cypress trees?



© Copyright 2002 Sandy Reynolds

Back to top














Blackfoot


There is only Land
with Wind
and Buffalo...
enough to eat
and wear;
enough to blow the tumbling weeds
across the plains
to seek Water from the Lakes.

A Nation named for blackened feet
in Prairie Fires;
once trod the Land
with tribal wear,
danced with Hawks
while Eagles spoke.

The Alpha Male,
a Winter Wolf,
once fearless, bowed to none;
a god of Timber
hungers now in skin and bones,
whimpers at the Moon,
and Land is all there is.



© Copyright 2002 Sandy Reynolds


Wolf photo © Monty Sloan Wolf Park

Back to top












Pearls


Seaside winds and wonders blow
with sand;
sand that buries feet and abalone;
sand that weaves into a passing shell
with wayward grains;
like magic dust,
spins itself into a velvet pearl.

Beads on strands
are swinging stones for
dancing flesh of freedom girls;
girls in shimmy-lace that
flip and turn the bauble gems,
tease and burn the buccaneers with twirls
of twisting sea-dog pearls;
pearls that rise from pain in a shell and
the intrusion of a grain of sand.



© Copyright 2002 Sandy Reynolds


Back to top






Tattered Wings


In a bed of clover, newly sown
where nectar rings
and monarchs fly,
a tiny thing of new-grown green
crouches with the bumblebees.

Hiding from the edging tools
and snipping shears,
a cringing fae
feels curious eyes
of an ogling window-peep.

There she was with broken beads
of tiny sweat,
dodging clips of polter-grass
and hands of ugliness;
praying as the mantis spits,
thanking as the hornet stings;
she licks her frayed and tattered wings.



© Copyright 2002 Sandy Reynolds


Back to top





Sandy's Archive at The Critical Poet             Nature Poets home




Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1