Today we share the 2nd winning poem.

2 "A Life of Roots and Leaves", by Bob Stephens (USA)

The leaves shivered in the wind when I first touched you

I was not electrified, but awestruck

The power of you almost overwhelming me

The spread of you makes my eyes rove

Unable to settle, a butterfly flitting among Lantana

I cannot see half of your body

Roots deep and broad

Broader than your life above

A dual Life as one

A thirsty world thriving in the elemental earth

A colorful world thriving in the elemental air

A yin and yang

Two worlds living together in a wider world

I can only try

To appreciate all of you

I can sense you with every pore

I can feel you in your shade

You have history as only a tree can experience

If only I could hear you sing

Not the whispers of the wind

But your low rumble

Of roots old and new burrowing

The shining tinkling sigh

Of leaves breathing

Sap flowing with a silent thrum

The life blood of you

If you could

Tell me of

The great winds of your aged Life

The lighting just missing

The terror of fires approaching

Tell me of

The bright rainbows you have seen

The families of you have sheltered

The shooting stars that streaked

Beneath the sky

And above your crown

I am just an instant in your long Life

Sing of the dreams you could not share.

Please note that only in June we will be able to disclose the complete list of winning works of the Literary Contest Nature.

Enjoy.

Dear Friends,

Literature and nature bring us together. A few years ago, Darwin studied gravitropism, i.e., a growth response, of plants, to gravity. He removed surgically the caps of roots and then verified how they would grow. To his surprise the roots started to grow without the influence of gravity. This is to stress that nature contains mysteries and influences our imagination… Poetry seams to follow the same principals. This is the case of the poem that won the 2^nd place. Congratulations to Jill Hall.

“A Quarantine Visitor” by Jill G. Hall (USA)

In the quiet summer sun

on my San Diego patio

a plump lizard basks.

“Hello,” I whisper. Her

smile sly, eyes button-beads,

skin resembling grandma’s purse.

Prolific in our childhood garden

my brother Sandy saved them

in shoeboxes, fed them flies.

Sometimes he’d pick one up,

snigger as its tail fell off, 

wiggled about. He’d chase

me with the terrible    

Tyrannosaurus Rexes

in his outstretched hands.

Terrified I’d cry, run away

until the day I grit my teeth,

stood my ground, patted its

crusty head. After that

he stopped pestering me.

At least not with reptiles.

He often kissed them until

one bit him on the lower lip

and like mom would say he

screamed bloody murder.

I think he still has a scar.

I feared those dears had

become extinct long ago.

It’s interesting what a coronavirus

can do to shift the balance back.

Enjoy.