Horizon to Horizon

by r. nuñez 2 months ago in nature poetry

The Reflective Autumn

Horizon to Horizon

When one spends a lot of time by oneself, one learns to talk to oneself … not in the familiar absent-minded way that we often do, but with a serious bearing, asking oneself important questions, and pondering the possibilities and the connectedness of the past and the future … and the all-important here and now.

The Windows of the Sky

a song/poem

There’re rows and rows of houses

That a trav’ler must pass by,

For he only sees horizons

In the windows of the sky.

There’re miles and miles of faces

He will never see again,

And he smiles as he remembers

All the moments in the rain.

There are signs that give him warning

So he takes another way.

The rainbow is a flower

That he looks for every day.

Some day you’re going to wonder

If there’s anything to know,

And I hope you smile forever

And wherever you may go.

(refrain)

Oh, the windows of the sky

And the lessons of goodbye …

They are just another choice

When you tire of your toys.

Some day you’re going to wonder

If there’s anything to know,

And I hope you smile forever

And wherever you may go.

1970

Disturbance

disturbance

Sometimes, autumn seems portentous, bringing apprehension and even dread of what is to come.

Autumnal Wind

The autumn wind does not caress

Like the gentle cooling summer breeze.

It whips and lashes with duress,

And taunts and bullies without surcease.

Whatever stands is under stress;

The wind is a peril in the trees.

It lifts the surface of the field

And scatters it in other places;

And having rendered thus the yield,

It flings the grit against our faces.

Whatever’s covered is revealed,

And vacant sites are stripped of traces.

The wind of autumn shakes the walls

And rattles anything left hanging;

It screams and tears around and squalls,

And gathers things and sends them clanging.

The leaves, as if some proctor calls,

Go chattering, like children ganging.

Could be the grief of Mother Earth,

Her gentle nature could be turning;

For something presses at the girth,

The forest in the hills now burning.

The clime foreshadows death and birth

And waits to see what we are learning.

2011

Looking Back Through the Prism

Skyline

Much of my literary activity is a contemplation of the changes in perception, in sensation, and in attitude. Written in 1986, this looks back at 1968.

Skyline

I remember how I saw the skyline

When I was a hippy,

Walking in the rain

And bending in the driven wind,

Singing in the moonlight

And never thinking of tomorrow;

And when tomorrow came,

I’d revel in it all again.

And now, I see the sun set,

Horizon to horizon;

Now the rain is cold,

And the wind no longer plays.

Singing in the night,

Yesterday has come and left me.

Looking out the window,

I think about the wasted days.

1986

Colors Turning

Melancholy Fall

Autumn is a time that comes to our being as much as it is a season; and perhaps, it is when we add the seasoning to our lives.

Melancholy Fall

When in the gray, somber days

Of melancholy fall,

What we used to see as great

We might now perceive as small,

And what so little, we hardly saw,

We might not even perceive at all.

And winter, impassive purifier that it is,

Hides the world and clears the slate,

Brings a calm and quiet bliss,

A light that kindles an inner thaw…

And spring and summer

Hide the sense of this.

1996

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r. nuñez

I am a shamanic priest who loves to write stories, poetry, and songs. Retired, but still helping people, animals, and the planet.

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