Hummingbird

Hummingbird, you offer inspiration
fluttering your wings so tirelessly.
Any other creature in creation
can’t compare for diligent esprit.

Smallest of the species sporting feathers,
delicately colored, poised mid-air,
you are picturesque in form that weathers
all adversity, though unaware
how much you achieve by simply being.
Preening’s not your nature; you’re compelled
constantly to seek out food, foreseeing
fuel needs for energy expelled.

‘Til I learn to hover in the ether,
trusting there’s enough to fill my beak,
gliding on the currents underneath are
heaven’s gifts. You’ve given me a peek.

 

 

cc-by-nc-nd  2018 Mary Boren

 

Photo from the public domain

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He Said

It’s true, it was a rotten thing to do.
Apology accepted, though.  What’s more,
the deed has been forgotten. Still, the spore
of guilt proliferates.  The mirror’s cue,
a wagging finger, leads its retinue
of blame.  You keep reopening that door,
returning to the crime scene to implore
the pardon that’s been freely granted you.

Or is God’s promise only for the clean
and righteous soul?  Do you suppose his love
is rationed out in bits … as case by case
is proven worthy?  Look behind the screen.
There isn’t anyone deserving of
forgiveness — that’s the miracle of grace.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2005

Public Domain Image

Deer at Dawn

deer

In the soft lavender haze,
three does graze in the yard.
Heads down, of necessity;
guard lowered … never.

As I tiptoe to a closer vantage point,
my knee brushes the rocker by the window
and it protests with a gutteral creak.
Heads up!

Instantly, they morph
into a trio of lawn statues.
Seconds pass like minutes.

They leap the tall grass
in a single scattershot blast!

Moving in unison
on a primal cue,
they have melded into the trees
before I can remember to exhale.

Seated with my coffee, in the comfort
and relative safety of home,
curiosity sets in.
(It could kill the cat,
but lack of it can down a deer.)

Was there ever a time they knew trust,
or were they predestined prey?
Is raw fear the trade-off
for beauty, grace,
and direct communion with the earth?

Could humans adapt
to live in such a state
of perpetual anxiety?

Or have we?

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2011