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Phusis and Chronos
Neifert, B. K. My Collected Writings. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2021. pp. 391
Purple hair of the setting sun’s fire,
With robes of the sky’s daytime amethyst---
Her sandals are peridot sward, nestled
In the earth of her skin’s sun-kissed velvet.
Her eyes are the ocean’s green, with glass foam.
She wears the skins of all the beasts she took
In combat; the insects are her jewels.
She is betrothed to Time as man and wife.
As time will age, so will she weaken.
Until the two pass on to the heavens.
For nature grows weaker, as time passes
On, and the more unnatural man becomes
The time of Nature’s magic wanes, so with
Her love, and mercy and her swells of joy.
Until she dies, and so does Time, and the
White Rider comes upon clouds of heaven.
Spots of Evolution
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 231
Frogs turn into Toads---
For what differs them
Is the stage of a tadpole.
Platypi evolve from birds
Which evolve from dinosaurs.
Which, Platypi are a mammal
Which lay eggs---
Probably, the Platypi became a Marsupial
And then came of a live birth.
Therefore, man has an ancestral link
With the dinosaurs.
In an Amphibian's cycle
The entire process of evolution occurs.
First, the egg, then the fish, then the salamander.
The salamander then becomes the lizard.
Or the salamander then becomes the snake.
The walking fish is another mystery...
Yet, how can mammals evolve from two separate
Species?
The Dinosaur is a lizard
Which evolved from an amphibian,
Which evolved from a fish,
Which evolved from a mollusk
Which evolved from something else.
A man is an ape, which evolved
From a marsupial, which evolved from
An ornithorhynchidae
Which evolved from a bird
Which evolved from a dinosaur
Which evolved from a lizard.
Christians, let's not be hasty
To throw away God just because of this fact.
For, God's omnipotence is beyond our own understanding.
The Cycle of the Flies
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp.209
A fly in the spring
Is a colonist;
Is strong, sleek,
Nimble...
It must survive, to breed.
A fly in the summer
Lives in its Golden Age.
It is fat, strong,
And diverse.
It lives, without fear of starvation.
A fly in the fall
Lives in its decadence...
All the fruits consumed,
It forgets how to forage, and is sluggish.
It dies, while the strongest survive to reseed the next generation.
Treasure Common Things
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp.242
Treasure common things.
Cherish the dandelion flower
Over the hibiscus or rose.
Cherish the dogwood and Red Buds
Every spring, and cherish the mulberry's fruit;
Cherish the fruit in season
But have a taste for some fruits out of season,
Those commonly sold at market.
Splendor over the amethyst and not the diamond;
Dig your hand into the stone bucket
And cherish the variegated colors of those common rocks;
Don't seek after the Ruby or Sapphire or Peridot or Emerald.
Cherish the Zebra Coral, Unakite and Blue Quartz and Pink Howlite.
When the bluebells appear in the forest, cherish them.
When the helicopter leaves fall, cherish them.
Cherish the dandelion fuzz and the Queen Anne's Lace.
Find chestnuts, and walnuts, and hedge apples,
And wild violets and wild strawberries and Veronica flowers;
When they are in bunches, the common blue violets are a most beautiful sight.
In the fall, cherish the golden and blazen leaves.
In the winter cherish the snow.
In the summer cherish the summer storms.
Love chess boards, and old pictures of family and friends,
Love the curtains that hang in your home,
Love the common items you always see
Those which you have possessed all your years.
These I must say treasure, before you lose them.
Be exhilarated over
Susan B. Anthonys and Golden Sacajaweas;
And Bicentennials which make change from the vending machines.
Love the variegated state quarters
And the different nickels,
And the common pieces of art that hang in your home,
The ones that family had made.
Love those people around you,
Who you commonly associate with.
Love your coworkers and classmates
And bosses and neighbors,
And yes, even your job.
Be satisfied with your TV
And Computer with the key missing
And broken keyboard that doesn't type.
Love what is common and readily available to you
Over rare and priceless things.
For, if you seek out rare and priceless things
You shall always be impoverished by their lack.
The Sunset to My Right
Neifert, B. K. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 551.
The yellow sunset to my right
With the igneous glow
That pleasant light which turns the greensward
Gold, with the clouds turning orange
In the summer heat.
Violet shades the sheds
While crimson shades the patio.
The forty foot tall maples stand like silhouettes;
Birds chirp their final evening warbles.
The glow, however,
So hard to explain.
It hits your eyes
Like jumping into a cool stream
On a hot summer day
To get out and be the perfect temperature.
As the sun sets
The colors brighten
To their golden hues.
Orange fish fly in the sky
As violet begins to bath the light
With subtle hues of pink.
Yet, the orange now shifts to deep red
With the red light lightly shadowing my hand.
Deep pinks, deep orange, deep blue,
That light, though…
How to describe it?
Pleasant, it surrounds me
Like no photo can.
It baths the house with furnace like amber
As the walls look like flame.
The white panels on the homes
Glow with the light.
It creeps out
Omnipresent
Glowing like only a sunset can.
When you see the sunset,
Cyber loves…
Look not at the sunset,
But at everything.
Look at the grass
The silent glow
Which touches everything
With colors seen once
Which disappear when the sun reaches
Its position placed behind the peaks.
For that color
Which touches all things
Reaching to make the grass gold
The sheds mauve
The deck crimson light
Through the world
It sheds its light over everything.
The Lake Whoops
Inspired by Wordsworth’s
The White Doe of Rylestone
Neifert, B. K. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp.559.
Upon an icy lake
Echoes the whoop
Of warming light.
How the light warms
Upon the lake
So it cries a whoop
Eerie for the ear to hear.
Fraught minds
Sit in idle consideration
Of the whoop,
Whispering to them a fancy
Belied;
Belied, for the whoop
‘tis beautiful,---
Yet the fraught mind
Considers it some preternatural force.
How often does the lake whoop
With frozen songs?
To hear the lake whoop;---
Be not so fraught to believe
You hear the eerie echoes of Ghosts.
Rather, the lake is singing;
For, how fraught fairy tales
Spoil the natural truth right in front of you.
Abide the Snow
Neifert, B. K. My Collected Writings. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2021.pp. 398
How I love Thee, oh Stately King
The worlds seen from Thy peak.
Beneath Thee, Thy black Princes’ tor
Gather by the valleys for war.
It, the breath of Heather Blossoms
Stain the rocks with liquid crimson;
The Princes reign above the lot
Of men, who upon earth, the gods
They have all stopped believing in.
Thus, Mount where the Nard Flower’s sin
Had grown, and the harlot’s love washed
Thy foot, Thy fragrant soils soft,---
Thy Statehood beams upon the breadth
Of all worlds and cloudy hex.
Thy peak is worshiped for its height;
Princes beneath Thee ready fight;
And the steeples of thy Welkin
Ring, for Thou art the very vault in
View of those who see Thy splendor;
And raiment of the Prisms wore
Thou upon kneck and ivory knape---
The sash of Thy Kinghood---irate
That the very dogs Thou wished good
Sought to steal from we poor our food.
Nature’s Cannons
Neifert, B. K. Flirtations with A'te. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. 331.
The blue of hoary
Wintersky mists the treefold,
Rolling with foliage.
Cold rawness of heat
Ruby-stings the peachflesh of
Cheeks; its war churns here.
Rawness’ cannons
Crack with musketry ‘pon wakes
O’er the chilly lake.
Raw is that heated
Cold, which cracks the sheaths of ice,
So stirs my heart’s eye.
No battle is fought
Save that of nature’s cannons,
So ice wars with raw.
Mad Spring
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 403.
In the deep winter,
When the trees call forth their buds---
A mad time, a dizzying time,
A frightening time,
The newborn to nature's ennui
When her tender leaves
Bud in the deadness of winter's hoary breath;
A warm week in January or February,
There arrives the Mad Spring
Where the careful naturalist
Observes Mother Nature
Peeping open her weary eyes
For just a short peak,
And then the Jack Frost comes
And that Sandman puts the sleepies
Back under her eyes.
Yet, the newborn to nature's ennui
Will be frightened by this madness,
For it seems like spring is a month early.
Do not fear.
For Twelve Years Now
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
For twelve years now, every early or mid February
The Weeping Willows get a yellow-green flower
And the Maples get a red bud--not to be confused with redbuds--
Which sends my deluded soul into a spiralling frenzy.
But not this year, as imagination would have it.
For, I've seen it every year, for twelve years
And while nobody else has documented it,
So shall I in this poem... it was what I called a Mad Spring.
But, I'm not so sure that isn't the natural way.
February's Fay
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
For twelve years now, every February
I had seen the Weeping Willows call forth
A yellow-green flower; ever wary
I had thought the philosophy there worth
Entertaining of our elite comrades
Whom in their ivory towers say the sky
"It shalt fall to the earth," so I then raise
The alarm, seeing also red buds spry
Upon the maple's branches, thinking they
Do us fairly to warn of something so.
Yet, now I have therefore, seen, and behold
That it might just be February's fay.
Thus, for twelve years now in a wholesome row
I have seen red buds on the maples, and yellow on the willows.
Star
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 426.
Star bright, 10:30 on a winter's night,
Goliath's arm twinkles at peak lumens.
The lazy plane flies under you.
You brightly twinkle over him.
You will never realize until you do,
That the star shines there, equal in its breadth.
The March Moon
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 188.
I see the March moon;---
There, it hovers long
Like a contrail in the sky,
But, moves imperceptibly,
Like a large clock's hour hand.
Song of a Saint
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 204
In the morning's dew, I'll say a prayer to You
And look upon the celestial moon
Which, like a silver cloud hanging in the sky
Says to me the stars are, this perfect day, aligned.
I'll do my day's task, wipe the sweat off my brow,
And do it this day to make my Papa proud.
Yet, I know one day all labor shall cease
And I shall sit by my LORD at His supper feast
And I shall have my mansion's stones
Of Agate, Sapphire, Beryl and gold
With Mount Zion's tremendous peak
And golden crest with silvercapped streaks.
I shall walk down the country roads,
To where Zion's spires and towers rose
Twelve Thousand Furlongs in awesome height,
To the distance of that moonlit sight.
That silver cloud, it hangs, I'm told
A Crescent moon one day old
To tell me the year and season
So I am not lost by Satan's Treason.
For by this I know the stars don't lie
And I am in God's season and time.
Oh, on Zion I preciously wait
To see that pearly, opalescent gate.
The Roses and Veronica
Neifert, B. K.. WordPress.com. Web.
The Roses and Spring breeze carry your scent like a forest;
The Veronica is blue upon the tourmaline lawn;
I love you, my dear beloved, my dearest,
So with this poem will I muse and I fawn.
The Boat-Tailed Grackle
Neifert, B. K.. WordPress.com. Web.
I shout, "'tis a vireo I see, so rare
"It loves to hide in the reeds."
No, 'tis not green.
A Boat-Tailed Grackle
A rare bird indeed,
With triangular tail feathers;
The tan variety I had seen.
Twice even in the same day.
It stood on a branch, making melody in the woods
As the children played their hide and seek;
It's trill and chirp was magnificent.
The Cicadas in '98
Neifert, B. K.. WordPress.com. Web.
Such fear and panic, that the brood
Was so large, it was in Central Pennsylvania.
There were two broods that year, in the East and South.
Just like this year, 2024---hey, I might even be graced by them.
I see man, in such a light, now realizing their short memories
And poor intellect, fearful of an Eclipse and terrified of Cicadas in the same year.
To me, it's like striking the hour at noon, where the big and little hand meet together.
But there is this weird milieu, where people spread strange omens
About things that are as natural as a cataract or as wholesome as a bride adorned for her husband.
Yet, strangely, they whisper, like some great thing were happening
And it couldn't have been predicted 3000 years ago.
It could have, actually... that's what they don't understand.
But still, like squirrels gone nuts in the forest,
They must scramble, and dig, and take cover and shelter
From a nonexistent storm.
Where was the terror, o Israel? There was none.
Yet, strange omens, and prophecies, and divinations---
I'd be far more frightened if I didn't see them.
The Eclipse April 8th, 2024
Neifert, B. K. WordPress.com. Web.
11am
Clouds are rolling in.
A bright haze of sun
Bathed the town
In a murky, but bright light,
But it's being darkened now
By thick clouds coming in from the west.
11:30pm
Yesterday was a picture perfect
Sunny Spring day... Years ago
I prayed for a sunny day today.
But, yesterday, I saw the gulls
Inland at the lake, so knew.
However, the question remains
Will I know there is an eclipse?
Ask that question with me
Because that's all that matters.
The sky has opened up; it's brightened a little;
Blue streaks are across the murky grey
Clouds. A little brightness...
Will I see it? I don't know.
In 2017, I saw the whole thing in such glorious array
Staring into the dark, burnt amber sun;
I do not recommend this, though.
11:45am
The sun is brilliantly shining.
My hopes are not swelling nor receding.
Let God provide the answer;
For it is my delusion, that I am a horrible human being
And that I have a horrible disease.
And, by not seeing the eclipse today,
I will feel like a Judas Iscariot.
For the whole country frets to see
What I fret not to see. For this eclipse tells me
It is this day, and the very hour.
So now, the sun goes behind the clouds once more.
12pm
Angst in me grows, as the drama of today
Unfolds; an event I've waited for for 7 long years.
Will I see the thing my soul longs for
Or will I have to have simple faith
That it did? Will I see the great American Eclipse?
Prayer is such a murky thing...
I pray for years ahead of time,
Yet still the dark shadows, they creep
Over my head, and the omens are whispered
From long ago, my hopes dashed.
It does not mean God does not exist;
As sure as there will be an eclipse today
It is, regardless of whether I perceive it.
And that is what faith is.
And perhaps, that is the message today.
Or, perhaps, I will see it, and the message
Will be a different one? I do not know.
Only time will tell what theme my poem arrives
And at 3:16 I will know.
At 2 the sun will begin to darken
And at 3:16 the eclipse will be nigh her full glory.
Will I perceive it then, though?
12:15pm
Time they say is a western concept,
Yet the ancients in all continents used
To track days, by watching the sun.
Aztecs as well as Africans could know
An eclipse would happen on this day--
They had knowledge like so back then
Miraculously enough.
Provided they lived in the region;
But the mages told time through the Sun
The Moon and the Stars...
As the Bible says it is so
Which a man sees the advanced nature
Of my faith, that it doesn't give mystical
Signs to the stars or heavens
But rather sees it like an astronomical clock.
But, what is fulfillment and a great miracle
Are the rivers which appeared in the deserts
Recently--God so cleaved the rock,
And brought the desert people's water.
Thus, their land will flourish like mine
Soon, and it is a happy thing.
The sun is also shining bright right now.
Very bright, as bursts of blue dawn the heaven's raiment
And the thick clouds are a frame around the blue.
And yet again, it recedes.
12:30pm
The Hyacinth and Bluebells have such a sweet smell
So, it is certainly early April, as the redbuds have yet to show.
In their full vigor, both the Hyacinth and Bluebells
In their brilliant Pinks and Blue-Mauve,---
David and Goliath fight their war in the Western Horizon.
Late at night, there is the peaceful time, when all constellations
Are at rest, the Bear and Virgin are seen.
Earlier, around 11:50, Robins made such an impressive
Descent to my lawn, framed by my kitchen window.
I remember seeing the moon and sun, at sunset a month ago
Were nigh one another's path. So, the signs are sure...
The stars do not lie. Even if I do not see them,
It is not the token of a liar that I speak.
For that is faith... I do not wish to be evil
So I do not have to be.
12:45pm
Aggie the Angelfish chases Orange the Tetra;
Nutters the rainbow shark emerges, swimming upside down
To eat a hanging string of algae from the weeds.
Special the plecostomus is hiding,
Barb and Bee, the Green and Red tiger Barbs
Are there, swimming slanted, finding shelter
In the weeds and heater.
Thing One and Two, the tiny albino Catfish
Are there, making their quick trips to the top
Of the tank. Blue, the other tetra
Is swimming somewhere, probably sparring
With Orange for the left side of the tank.
Unaware that such a thing is happening...
It is probably human dread and our very powers of reason
That lead us to such panic over a thing...
For, as many have said, the animals are undisturbed,
And as it happens, they will think nothing of it.
Maybe a cloud passed over the sun,
Maybe something else... they will be there,
Doing what they do, what they always do.
That is the beautiful of a Human Imagination,
That we, through reason, can predict the course of the moon and sun
And through imagination, conjure up hidden omens by them.
The good and the bad of the human mind---
And then there is this poem, which is all the good
Of creative glory, and hopefully none of the bad.
1pm
The cloud cover grows.
Gospel hymns play Blue Grass melodies.
Will there be any stars in my crown?
Surely, blessed assurance,
That because I do not wish to be,
The stars will never lie.
Day by day, I must look upon the cross
And there my serpent hangs;
Like Moses had lifted in the sands
The Law crucified my savior
And subdued Death for my sake.
1:30pm
Last March, the planets paraded,
Jupiter, Mercury, Venus, Mars and the moon
And I saw them there, so magnificent
And they hovered there long,
For months I could see the reminiscent planets in their Orbits.
Showing perfectly the majestic timepiece
That nature is. And in 2021, Brood X
Appeared, in large and noisy numbers
And there, my poems were written to the date.
Today, in one hour, the sun will start to be darkened
And I will see, for the second time in my life
A solar eclipse. Yet, will the clouds block my view?
This I do not know. I only know, there will be an eclipse...
And perhaps I may perceive it...
We will see when I make my trip to Pinchot
And walk the trail, what will be, will be;
So the future's not mine to see.
Similarly to 2023, 2004-5 had a planetary alignment too;
And on June 6th, 2006, the world was to end,
But never did. But today, there are rivers in the desert
Feeding God's solitary flock---so I know by that what days we live in
And not the heavenly bodies, nor the cicada broods,
For I am not an astrologer, but an astronomer.
I am not a soothsayer, but a sage.
The sun also is shining brightly;
So perhaps I shall see what my heart longs to see.
2pm
The clouds are dimming the sun.
I think of the Super Moon on 2016,
How I drove down the country highway
And saw it there... in 2014 I learned about them
But could not see them, as there were super moons then,
Too, a rather rare event, as they'd be closer to the Earth
Than at any other time in our lifetimes.
There were to be super moons on those days.
I can see now, the light shining through
A skylight, making a perfect beam upon the white carpet.
Soon, the eclipse will start.
The rain has abated thus far, so will I see what my heart longs for?
The knowledge that I am not what I fear?
The sky does look brighter to the West,
Despite the ominous forecasts of the weathermen.
Blue is showing through...
But we shall see.
Why is a cloud harder to predict than the moon and sun?
Is it because gravity is a constant, whereas
The rain being evaporated from the soil,
In its steams you'd see on a sunny day,
Rising from the soil in haze and fog, that it produces something
Which science cannot tell?
Are there too many variables for the clouds?
It darkens outside...
But the blue is more visible than it once was.
2:15pm
Give me the old time religion,
The one good enough for our fathers and mothers,
Our grandfathers and grandmothers,
For it brought them to heaven...
It's good enough for me.
Joshua went to battle at Jericho,
And Rahab was spared---
War is bloody and evil.
If God cannot lie,
He must say war is utmost evil.
But, sometimes Jericho needs to fall.
The sun begins to darken at this very moment.
Though the sun shines in its full strength
It seems like there is an overcast.
It is a golden color, not like the white blare
Of usual sunlight, but a darker gold.
Like I remembered from last time.
For two hours this eclipse will last.
The overcast of clouds hang over me,
And it is strangely dark.
Ominously, like last time,
It is like the sun is overcast,
But the clouds aren't thick
But the sun is dimmed, though it shines.
The sun isn't very bright, like I'd expect it to be bright, shining in its full strength---
Not like yesterday, where it was clear and white.
Today, it is like a dim flashlight,
Though it shines in its full lumens.
I go outside to check to see if it's cloud cover
That's dimming the sun, or if the sun has truly darkened.
It has, and my eyes are strained by the dimming rays
As I look out upon the fields.
It is a strange light, the sun fully shines, but it feels like there's an overcast.
And walking outside in the darkness, hurts my eyes;
Just like it did last time, though the sunlight is dimmed.
2:30
Now I shall go to Pinchot, and witness its full glory.
3:45
So, I arrived at Pinchot, soon
And began my walk.
The light shifted from golden, to amber
But the clouds seemed like they would block the eclipse.
Disheartened, but not discouraged, I prayed.
And, soon, the cloud cover began to recede
Right as the eclipse was beginning to darken.
The sky, it soon grew dark, and the patches of blue
Looked like storm clouds, as the sun shined
But it cast a dark glow on everything.
Brighter, but not much, than fire's light.
The amber glow, it began to dim
As I knelt and sniffed the bluebells
Only tasting a hint of their honey scent.
And I stood, and began walking, and soon,
The sky looked overcast, but the sun hung in peak visibility
Yet it grew darker as I walked toward the paths.
I thanked Jesus in earshot of some fishermen
For fulfilling my petition from seven years ago;
And dramatically, a hazy and cloudy day
Broke into a darkened blue vault just in time for the Eclipse,
And only the eclipse, as it shone in brilliant
Amber and cool light, dimming, dimming, dimming
Until the sky was bluish grey, and I passed a man
Telling him the Sun was God's timepiece.
The old man seemed confused, but knew the sun was darkening at that moment
So people all over the park observed it through their spectacles.
They had the lesser portion though,
As I quaffed all the scenery, and the shifting shades of darkened light I'd only see on that day, and that day alone.
And the shadows which boldly stood
Out in the dimming light,
It was like an overcast, but there was sunlight
Enough to cast bold shadows, as I walked through the woods
And the trees bent in such bold visibility
Like they were outlined with charcoal pencil lines.
Then, I saw a Bluebird fly onto a tree branch, and then a Purple finch did the same
And soon after, as I was walking through the main, gravel park path
The diamond ring shone out--it was a partial eclipse, but there was still
A moment where the sun was at peak eclipse, and a light
Cast over my shoulder, like a brilliant stream,
But the dark sky hazed into its darkest yet, evening blue-grey; like thunder clouds, but it was clearest of sky.
A squirrel made its hallelujah,
As he excitedly ran through the grass, collecting his spring nuts he buried last winter.
It was like walking through a world which was cast through a photography filter,
The golden light which cast its hue over everything,
Or like walking during the evening hour, though it was only
3:21.
Then, the light began to brighten, and it was over,
And I knew I had to come home soon,
And write while fresh in my mind.
On the drive home, I watched the sky lighten up from grey to its darker blue
Like it was at 2:30, and the light went from golden amber to a more yellow-white
And I walked through the door of my house.
So God showed me I have no reason to fret: I am in His golden hour,
On the time, to the very minute, nothing lacking or added.
The stars, they do not lie.
Therefore, I am indeed nothing like a Judas;
For the stars, they did not lie.
And also more-so, the overcast withdrew in that very moment, so I could see and know with certainty
I am my LORD's. And no one can strip me from Him.
And as soon as the eclipse ended, the cloud covering returned, so mysteriously.
For the eclipse, to the day, the hour, the minute, passed before my very eyes.
I am not the monster I fear, for the stars, they do not lie.
Upon the Paths at Pinchot
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 146.
My Love, my Lass, in bonny flowers I run through
As I see your face, more beauteous than the dew
Upon the steepled Blue-Bells, weeping that I find
You far away;--- upon two paths when shall they pass?
For your purest mien does show you are truly kind.
Husband of Youth
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 147.
My love, I wait for you on shores
Of opal crests, where once I saw
You, in godly grace, innocent
And in your dress; you were so pure.
In my dreams, was Amarisa
Your name, that odious vision
Where I saw your heart was like mine,
Your loves telling you things unkind.
For, you had been left in your youth
By a husband betrothed, who looked
At you, was it ever in couth?
Yet, did he die or did fooresook
The Violet Flower with her
Precious, little, smiling face, poor?
Jerusalem's Streams
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 148.
My love, this poem I write to you:
I am not a perfected man
Nor are you perfect, though despite
Your beauty, which is as the Land
Of Jerusalem in its time
Of fertility; I shan't find
A more beautiful doe in Nine
Thousand, and one more for your kind
Personality. Radiates
The spirit of God from your gate
Which, if I enter will be my
Precious treasure during the time
I'm given to Earthly toils,
You, my balm and Earthly oil.
I am saddened by the willow
Where I weep my loneliest tears.
For a river by the mountain
Sends forth its spry springs; do the years
Saunter by where the mountain flows
Into the streams: When will I drink?
The Wooing of the Wise
Neifert, B. K.. WordPress.com. 2024
Two owls woo each other in the Eve;
David and Goliath fight on the Western Horizon;
They call to one another, to find if they are mates.
The raptor's body flies off the pines
In a large flutter, as it sees me walking.
The Perfume of the Wild Flowers
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022.pp. 219.
The perfume of the wildflowers
Carries with the scent of the woods.
My lover's musk is like that of this breeze.
The April mowings brim in the warmer
Zephyrs of the sun's bath and periwinkle flood
Of sky;
My lover, you are more pleasant than these.
Dogwood and Matzoh Bread
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 216.
The Matzoh's holes and chars are like our Christ's
Wounds and bruises. It breaks, like Christ's body.
The dogwood's flowers, like a ray of sun
Had told me today, are wilted on its
Four petals, for "Christ was crucified on
Dogwood." Though not true, in either case, twain,
They are beautiful little thoughts which prove
Christ in their own, strange; fascinating ways.
That the Hawkish prudishness which doubts this
And must take every metaphor for a
Holy Writ, getting offended at lore
Which is beautiful, expounds upon man's
Linear thinking. Not even complex
Equations solve so prudishly---why does
It have to be literal? Christ was hanged
On an olive tree, yet the dark wrinkles
Of the Dogwood's bloom can remind us of
Those four wounds Christ took in his hands and feet.
Same is the skeptic's who say Christ could not
Have been crucified, for scripture did not
Mention ropes. That is another kind of
Prudishness. Everyone knew how men were
Crucified. Rather, both kinds of rigid
Thinking are epitomes of stupid.
Maybe things of literary merit
Need not be exact, but remind us that
It did, indeed, happen once in history?
Ant
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 399.
A tiny ant.
It neither has the ears to hear
Nor the eyes to see.
Yet, it knows I'm in the room.
What organ do I lack
To perceive God?
Like the ant cannot perceive me.
It knows I'm there by my voice.
It doesn't hear it.
It doesn't see it.
It simply knows there is a voice
Calling to it.
I must be that same tininess
To God.
Your Bouquet
Neifert, B. K.. Artemis XX. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 59.
The buttercups and pansies
Are grown old; their lives are short.
The daisies are pink and white:
The Mayapples are matured---
The spring is at its agéd peak.
It wanes into summer's prime;---
do know, the roses soon bloom
And scent the forest; the Honey-
Suckle too. The most beautiful
Is soon to come.
Happy Mother's Day.
Love,
Brandon
Romance Is a Mandrake
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
Romance is a mandrake.---
Poisonous roots, bitter
If swallowed.
Yet, when the white lily
Blooms in courtship
The fruit arrives...
It is most beautiful,
And only that timely
Fruit can you eat
And at no other time
But in that short week
In the month of May
Lest you eat a poisoned apple.
Providence
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
When at ease, and fully trusting
One walks through their paths...
All hell and storm abounding
One is delivered from the wrath.
Every clean bird shall congregate
Around you, in each and every bough
Of trees and rivers and lakes
And they shall settle all around.
The Blue Bird, the Cardinal
The Goldfinch and the Grouse
Red Winged Blackbird
The Sparrow and even the Squirrels now.
And if you are in God's timing
You shall walk down the path
And the congregation of blessing
Shall see you are not proud.
That Perfect Day in May
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
Heaven shall be that perfect day in May
When the leaves have newly unfolded
And they impress upon you a sense
That the whole world has changed in one instant.
The roses shall be in full bloom
And scent the forest with subtle perfume
Not overbearing, but natural.
The black snake shall slither upon the path
And it shall have a joyful jubilance
And a tiny little life imbued within it
And feed upon the dust;
No one shall be frightened by him.
The ivy shall not be poisonous
And shall give forth its hips
In scrumptious berries,
Twelve kinds, to the ever changing
Seasons of Heavenly flora.
The Scent of a Rose
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 199.
The scent of roses,
Unlike all other flowers,
Is a form bred from
Horticultured, white florets
Which smell like honeysuckle.
The Blue Moth
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 211.
I walk,
Succor the green,---
The Mauve, centimeter wide,
Opal butterfly
Flutters with
The lethargy
Of a newly created thing.
It lands, so delicately
Upon the arch of my peach
Foot, between the sandal strap
And my cuffed, mud-stained Jeans.
The Mayapple
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
The naturalist is not so,
Until he can determine
What scat belongs to what.
Or, in that perfect day
In May or June, look
Upon the plump Mandrake's
Fruit, and eat it after rubbing
It upon their shirt.
Only a seasoned naturalist
Can know the time
For all others are poisonous.
The plush juice, like an apple
Cucumber mixed with bug guts.
The Hard Stuff
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 212.
The dragonflies are numerous,
The biting flies are few.
Upon the paths of Pinchot
I consider the words of you.
“Slavery is a grievous sin
“Which thy God has sanctioned,”
True.
But the Law of Moses, my friend,
By Jesus's been made moot.
How know'th you,
If by the Heathen made a slave,
God may save the Unbeliever,
And give them life in Zion all days?
The War for Canaan was furious,
Blood spilt, from man to child,
Yet could it be they were corrupted
Rapist, murderer, pedophiles?
Thus, ought God not have slain them
And use the Holy Book,
To judge this world's Chaos
Whom Jesus, they all forsook?
12.
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022.pp. 214.
The Geese with their young goslings
Wade into the milk lake, Beige;---
With their webbed feet twaddling
The little geese with their down
Follow in roes, behind their mother goose.
Black, slender necks, like a Brachiosaur,
Arch, with white patches and yellow eyes.
Grey backs, variegated, and black beaks.
Peace flows with the Zephyrs
Warm light, a perfect comfort.
Children play their lawn tennis
Cooperating to score high volleys.
Birds sing, “Peace!”
War and violence bark madly
Somewhere---far away is
Their mischief.
Yet, hear, is peace.
The Peach
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022.pp. 240.
Thou, succulent peach---
Thy sugars like glass at thy
Crown; thy juice, like an
Orange syrup, dripping to
My white t-shirt---sting my tongue.
Coda
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 297.
I am a Common
Grackle with piebald feathers,
Half white, though, like a
Holstein's mane, with large
Circular plume. I am a
Blackbird, still--- My songs,
Though dissonant, are perrare,
And also vital.
Young Lion
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 310.
Satan wanders like a fanged, Young Lion
Searching for his prey to rip asunder.
A Lion, without his Pride of Consorts
Will form a wandering band of brigands,---
Mangy, sodomizing one another
Because they cannot provide for females.
They wander in packs, ripping apart their
Prey, devouring men in their bloody
Paths; no dignity; unmarriable;
Broken; bloody jowled and so murderous;
Stealing nourishment from other creatures.
A Fox
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 331.
There is nothing more despicable than a fox.
A gnarly haired, weasely fox.
It goes from place to place, wandering
Until it finds a nice little grove
Where all the meeker animals are at rest.
There, the animals are at rest,
And frolic on the knolls, will linger
By the human legs which wander nigh.
Then, the fox sees this, with belly growling
And it decides to disturb the years of peace
By picking off the little ones.
Then the meek ones.
Then the plump ones.
Birds, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks.
All the nice little animals which before,
Like the little chickadee which nearly perched on my sandal
It eats them.
And the animals, restless, stir from their holes
And no longer linger by the travelers foot.
Never having known danger,
The meek little mild bunnies die
With wounds in their sides,
Half eaten. To be thrown into the garbage can.
And one Fox does this, and when the habitat is disturbed,
And restless, and scared, it is happy
So it moves to the next pleasant forest,
And there, does its murderous spree once again.
The Eagle and the Dove
Neifert, B. K. Bread of Harvest. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 400.
In the Eagle's nest, the carrion was fed
And the Eaglets ripped apart one another
For their mother's pellet of vomit.
In the dove's nest, the silver lined
Creature flew, peacefully giving
The milk from her throat.
One day, eggs from the two nests were switched.
The dove hatched in the Eagle's nest,
And the Eagle hatched in the dove's nest.
The Eagle, seeing it was weak,
Would not feed the dove,
So she starved to death,
And was picked apart by her brothers and sisters.
The dove, seeing her giant offspring,
Fed what she could, but on account
That the bird could not drink her milk,
The Eaglet got hungry, and committed patricide.
Such are wolves and sheep, too.
Such are the evil and good among men.
Thou Swallow
Neifert, B. K.. Artemis XX. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 61.
Thou Swallow, you fly within my breadth,
And I ponder,---twice yonder you swoon,---
The curse which shall soon descend upon me.
Yet, thou hast caused my foot to stir
And my ambling to tarry,
So that the carriage which was at my back
Was saved from the other one careening down Front Street.
So, by thy shrill warnings, thou hast caused me to be a blessing
Upon some stranger I nary knew.
For, by spying me, a pedestrian on her port side,
It left just enough time to see the other car
Which traveled at twenty-five knots.
Had I not been there, I know not---
Perhaps it would have rent her asunder.
I see no other way... but by providence's hand
I walk with blessing, and what would be a curse is turned.
The Great Horned Owl
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
It looks like a hooded assassin
Upon the lamppost.
Its head and neck like a man's
And body like a monk's.
Then it flies, and you see
It's speckled chest.
It helps you understand
Why ancients were fearful of them
And they will make their perch in Babylon.
The Deer
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
Across the country highway,
The buck ran with the doe;
His green antlers grew
About a foot and a half
Since the spring.
The Chicory
Full bloom in the morning,
Dead at the heat of eve.
Then, you grow again,
Beautiful cornflower blue
Petals, with delicate silk.
Like our lives, truly...
We grow for a moment
And die, and our progeny
Grow up quickly after us.
What I Learned From the Chestnut Tree
Neifert, B. K. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 38.
Sit aloof, branch on the chestnut
With your brown bark rough to the skin.
Sit upon that bough, oh Bluebird
With your red chest---
Sing your warbled song.
So comes the Blue Jay
To fight with you---
You scare away from my porch.
Oddly, I see something in this
How mankind naturally goes.
The more beautiful creature
Gets flung away by the larger
Bird, with the same color
Though not as nice to behold.
Upon that same branch
Walks the carpenter ant
Knowing her place in society.
Softly she moves, with a little leaf
Shivering in her mandibles.
Little the leaf shivers, as she brings that
Or a white little pupa
Up the tree.
There, she goes, to her home in the wood.
I see such organized society
Such wonder and awe---
Yet, when the red ant finds them,
War burgeons, for they cannot control themselves---
Two great societies burgeon for war
With the bodies of compatriots strewn
Within the wooden Chestnut.
Then, I see the firefly, for dusk is upon
Where it shines its light to attract its mate.
Hovering amidst the branches,
Loafing up with such cute little grace
Mindlessly searching for their mate:
It feeds on the dew
Without causing much harm.
So beautiful, it moves, with green and red
Flashes from its belly.
Nothing seems to bother them
As they fly unhindered in their little dance;
That is, until the child finds them
Smearing its guts across his face
To make lighted paint.
There, underneath the Chestnut's dusk shadow
The boy uses the bug for warpaint---
Something innocent is in the behavior---
It's not evil.
Yet what will man do to his brother,
Though, acting upon nature as his guide?
War burgeons, until mobs become armies
And armies become victors.
Our world is the Chestnut tree;
We are the carpenter ants eating away its center;
We are the Blue Jay scaring away the weaker kinds
Who are more beautiful---
Oh, how I understand you, yes you
Though I will keep it a secret who I mean.
Unlike the Blue Jay, men scar the earth.
Unlike the ant, men will submit their weaker members
To starvation. I see a little tiny ant struggle with a bread crumb
I notice they are not so strong as we like to think:
Then she leaves, bringing with her others of like mind
To wrestle the crumb into their city.
Oh Blue Jay, Men will pick on the more beautiful bird;
Oh ant, men will wage needless wars.
Do you understand the Chestnut Tree?
Nature's Democracy, Kingdom, Oligarchy---
This I abhor.
Man's Democracy, Kingdom, Oligarchy
It does not bother me.
For whatever government will bring
Our human kinds together,
To be unlike the Blue Jay
Who attacks his more beautiful brothers
And to be unlike the Ant
Who wages needless war;
Yet, to also be like the ant,
Even the weakest has her work
And so can eat...
This is where my politics lie.
Footsteps
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
Partly cloudy, with thunder clouds,
Grey, and a hazy overcast,
The moist yet cool summer air
Wafts a smell like dirt and tree pheromones.
A spooky ambiance fills the path
And a hazy color, as heavy footsteps
Trod around me. I tread lightly,
Wondering if it is a squirrel or a walnut,
When a Mule Doe wanders onto the path.
It stares at me, and I speak to it,
And it runs away a bit, but follows
Beside me through the trail.
I hear its herd all around me,
As the animals make noises
And the birds, strange noises.
Volition
Neifert, B. K. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 48.
So flies a bird
The wind carries it.
Hither it goes,
The Crane, white
With its arched
Wings, fights against the wind.
Men might look at the crane
And say, "It has not a choice
"But to fly hither through the air
"For there is a bank of rushes
"Over yonder the trees...
"There, it wishes to go."
Another might look
And say, "Yet, the bird has the volition
"To be beaten back by the wind
"So not to struggle with it."
I would look at the bird
And see its little life.
There it is, so tiny
Yet men don't see it.
The Spirit of God dwells
Upon that crane
Its breath--- I look at it
Moving, with life.
To me, volition is like that bird---
We live, have breath---
You can see the bird's soul
By looking closely at it.
You can see the breath of life
In it--- that is the Breath of God.
The bird wanders through the air
White plumage, beautiful,
Chief and king among a thousand birds.
We, like the bird
Have life in us, know why we go somewhere.
The bird might have a nest in the rushes
Or, like some squirrels,
Revel in the thrill of chancing a force larger than itself.
I see nothing more intuitive than this;
One fails, and another succeeds.
Live like the bird.
Against the wind struggle;
Know not why, but feel at peace doing it.
The life in that bird---
That cognizance of love in the snapping turtle
There sun bathing on the park path--- the shear goodness in it...
It is why I believe in volition, and always will.
VI. Observations of Nature
Neifert, B. K.. Artemis XX. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 254.
i.
Strolling down my summer path today,
I saw there a Blue Mud Dauber...
It reminded me of so long ago...
A Writing Spider was underneath
The pool's frame, and a Blue Wasp
Got tangled in its web.
I celebrated, and eagerly waited
For the Writing Spider to envenomate
And make a feast.
Yet, the Blue Wasp grabbed the spider
And carried it off to be a meal for its young.
ii.
The thunder sounded like a battlefield.
The rain made half the highway blurry
As we drove underneath the sunny sky.
iii.
Walk with me through that path
Oh Jesus, my strong Rock---
I am robbed, I am poor
Yet I will give my cloak
To those who have robbed me.
For my path is golden
Waters, clear, with cobble
Stones underneath. The black
Fish school through my flooded
Path, of clear goldenrod.
The sun beams. From foliage
In its nectar green, fish
Swim in their schools like black
Shadows which through golden
Streams is my narrow road
Of forgiveness toward those
Who have robbed me.
Fairest of them All
Neifert, B. K.. Artemis XX. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 190.
Fairest of them all,
Do you wish to cause my fall?
Enticed I am in your trap of flattery.
How I would love to be thy friend,
And walk through my paths until the end,
Yet for all you are is all I ever wanted,
You are more dangerous than a Bear or Bobcat
In the woods. The Bear shan't attack
Unless her cubs are disturbed,
And the Bobcat, so long as you nare
Turn your back, you shall be safe.
Sulfur Polypore
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
I walk through the woods,
And see a couple venturing through them.
I ask them if they saw the mushrooms.
They said, "Yes, and I think they are edible."
I tell them, Sulfur Polypore is
But I do not know about those.
I also tell them, eat nothing from a forest
Unless you're an expert.
I come home, and see Jack o' Lantern
Mushrooms look nearly identical
And grow from tree roots too.
I only hope they listened,
And weren't like our handsome ancestors
That beautiful couple in the garden.
The August Chill
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
The giant trees stand one hundred foot.
Cool, August chill bathes me---
The first August chill in years---
The swelling feeling of Late Summer
The sleepy time, of the swing of things;
The light pours from the West
In blaring rays, in the cool day,
Illuminating the hundred foot trees,
Seventy-two degrees.
A theme occupies my mind
As I walk down my path,
And talk to the LORD Who always listens.
A theme of memories and the disciples,
How they could remember Christ's words
The same way I do; or I remember
A story such as Little Red Riding Hood
Or Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
Stories foundational to me,
Paul Bunyan, or I remember
Augusts long ago were cool
When for many years they were sweltering;
Why? Because it meant my Summer was come to an end;
And that, like Jesus, is important to me.
The Land of Waters
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
Land of many waters, waters,
Slowly babble through the brooks,
Five rivers convolve in this land
And through the yellowgreen trees
The springs through the land are heard.
The peoples raft, and kayak
And through the fields and valleys lay
A land of many waters, waters,
Let us repent, and those lands, we stay.
The Edna Duck
Neifert, B. K. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp.556.
The grass is green.
The sky is blue.
Flowers are red, pink and purple hue.
The sun is gold.
And fall leaves orange,
The robin's breast is read
But the blue bird told
Me, that the blue crane
In the waters wades
And the deer cross their antlers.
The frogs chirp
The dragonflies,
In their curious indifference
Buzz, and the wasp is not so angry
If you really look at her.
Worms get put on a hook
To catch a fish.
The fish---some fish---
Smile, until they are caught.
The cute little faces of the caught fish frown.
The rabbit runs from beneath the bush
The snake slithers in the grass.
The squirrels make mischief
The oaks drop their helicopters.
Such importance in all of this.
The moths are white and blue
The butterfly a colorful fan.
The ducks swim
In such serene beauty...
Do we even understand beauty?
In my heart I say, "It is lust"
But it is not...
We Americans confuse it with lust.
It, rather, is beauty and the ilium's response
To the duck diving into the pond.
How we repress it,
To see the beautiful curves of the duck.
We repress this feeling
Because it is the same feeling we all have
When we see a beautiful woman
Or a beautiful child.
We must feel guilty, somewhere,
Because none of us understand it.
Offended, are you?
Often I'm offended by the feeling
Because I don't understand it.
But, it is what the body feels when it sees beauty.
Somewhere we forget that it can...
Our whole culture unfortunately is repressed
To equate that feeling with some other kind.
The feeling of seeing the curves of a duck,
It's natural lines arching as it gracefully dives
Into water, feminine curves with the child by its side
Grabbing at the seaweed,
There with its little duckling,
The offspring of the white mallard;
Those poems I lost not too long ago.
Embarrassed I am that I cannot witness beauty
Without it being marred by the populace's opinions on it.
Because audiences are too dull to understand it.
Confused I am, that when I see the duck
I get the same feeling as when I see a daughter
Or a son
Or a woman, and yes
Sometimes even a man...
I would truly consider something is wrong in us
That I cannot say this without wondering
What ire I will incur on myself for saying it.
Because do Americans truly understand what I'm talking about?
Maybe they would lust after the duck
After having that strange feeling;---
Perhaps that is what's broken in us
That the feeling I had
Toward a duck
Was a very powerful feeling, it is physical attraction
But, ought we go further?
Certainly, it is a gift from God
To appreciate forms He has created
Without having to mar it with the kind of weird
Speculations we have.
Because, certainly, if you say I'm attracted to a duck
You are a very foul human being.
You, like the rest of Americans,
Are confused as to what the feeling truly is;
And I say, that is probably the sum of Homophobia,
How ugly it is to equate that beautiful feeling
With something it certainly does not belong with.
Harvest Bread
Neifert, B. K. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 555.
The bread of a rainy season,
The sign that the crops will come
Strong, tall, proud, filled with sugars
Filled with strong, sweet, savory butter.
The bread of a rainy season,
Those porous mushrooms
Which are the bread from heaven
To tell that God had given great abundant rains
The grass is the sheaf of nectar
With the morning dew beaded off its
Vegetal skin. The smell of the fall's
Bistern of cold, fresh on the nose.
And there stands those loafs of bread,
Which do not eat them...
The manna from heaven
Which is called rain
Grows the bread of a good harvest.
Autumn
Neifert, B. K. Artemis XX. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2023. pp. 231.
I
Oh, Keats! What more can
I say?
You steal my very thoughts
Away!
Flowers in October-bloom
Will soon fade in winter's doom,
But cherry leaves and cinnamon
The brisk cold refreshes,
And blows the scent of leaf
But also the novel scent
Of autumnal crisp.
Cider warms my throat,
And apples perfume the air,
Plump and sweet to their pit.
Fires newly kindled in houses'
Chimneys roast;
The soups are made,--
Sweet August Corn,--
To be stored for
Winter's fat.
The sun shines, but pleasantest
Chill rouses a sleepy
Dull, and winter's slumber.
II
A tender loll fills the brain
Like sleep is coming soon.
The chill sweeps over the downy lane
The geese fly home soon.
The blackbird flocks in numbers
The Robin makes her flight,
The bluebird dulls his colors
The sky lolls into long night.
The apples fall from their boughs
The samara of some maples too;
The walnuts' footsteps in the Forest
Stir my conscious in a flue
Of thoughts which tender out
The currency of the truest
Thought my mind aroused.
III
Alas, with chestnut hair,
And bosom pure and undefiled,
Of the fruits of harvest
Which in clusters are dawned
By purest white of stratus
Cloud, contrast by the beauty
Of the firths and valleys
Which roll at thy hips,
Thy fruit is delicious
And thy countenance brisk,
The Autumn berries sweet
For the mating roe
To lick and so delicately chew.
Pinchot Rock a Haiku
Neifert, B. K. My Collected Writings. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2021. pp. 240.
Rockhill, trunks hold thy
Skull of gray hollows for bear
Atop banks of leaf.
November Fall
Neifert, B. K. My Collected Writings. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2021. pp. 400.
Like the sun,
Radiating over the field of green
So said my Fathers before me
Blue sky with the clouds of white,
There the sun shows with brightness
The brightness of new days.
Comes the sun, bright
Like a yellow blare
Over the field of green
With the fall leaves blowing through
And a crisp cold in the air.
The brown leaves
This time so ugly
A November rain will knock them off
With the smell of cinnamon blowing through the air.
A wind chills, with the breath of hoary frost
Blowing from the mouth;
The refreshing chill, like an ice bath
Blowing comfortably against a heavy jacket
Leather Gloves and beanie.
There, the field of grass
Lit by the bright sun
Of yellow over the lime sward
Blowing, crusted leaves
Blue sky, and cinnamon;
The frozen cold, and the sound of wind
Leaves crackling along the macadam;
A taste of iron glazes my throat
Crisp, for the newfall air goes in
Crisping a throat; the taste of cold.
Birds of a Feather
Neifert, B. K. Winter Poems 2023 - 2024 Second Edition. WordPress.com. Blog. https://brandon.water.blog/2023/11/13/poems-winter-2023-2024-second-edition-2/
Instinct, duly said, is what brings the Robin
Cross her country migration, and back to her nest.
Or it brings said Youthful Robin back to the place where it was born.
Is it instinct? Or a bestowal of some strange providence?
For, at the State Park, what I find unimaginable,
Is the Cardinal in his brilliant, red plumage
And the Goldfinch in his winter black
And the golden sliver upon his tailfin,
And I look upon these beautiful specimens.
Strangely enough, I recall such people
Who are similar always at the park the same hour;
I walk through the park, and see birds of a feather
Flocking together, and I like the Blue Heron
Stand on my perch, observing them and their strange
Mein, making its impression on me.
Ides of November
Neifert, B. K. Winter Poems 2023 - 2024 Second Edition. WordPress.com. Blog. https://brandon.water.blog/2023/11/13/poems-winter-2023-2024-second-edition-2/
Fiery carnelian and topaz leaves
Upon the trees, the bare tops swaying in the breeze,
I walk upon a path, smelling the musk
Of a lover, the leaves in their mulching
Give off the subtle scent of a beautiful woman;
It hints ever so slightly, as the Buck
With its white tail raised like a mercy flag
Crosses the path in the flash of an eye.
Be careful, calm, do not stir the beast
Lest it trample you, but go on your way.
At the last, a little chipmunk interrupts
My prayers, in a frantic stirring
Preparing for Winter's stores
By finding the fat of fall's harvest.
Meditations on a Buck
Neifert, B. K. Flirtations with A'te. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 392 - 330.
1
Two bucks
Cross their ivory tackles
To cause their war
To be heard.
The birds;---
Undaunted;---
Because we
Hear them sing;---
2
Two bucks
Cross their ivory tackles
Causing their war
To be heard.
The birds;---
Undaunted,
We know, because they sing.
A tail of
One white-tail
Buck flashes
With lofty ensign
Through the thicket
To stir the
Squirrels up
The tree.
They seem
Like the spectators
Of two gentleman’s
Feud.--- knowing it
To be rivalry
And nothing more.
...
4.
In the forest, small
Creatures witness those genteel
Bucks cross ivory horns.
❦
In the forest
The smaller creatures
Watch the meek
Warriors, those genteel
Bucks, cross their
Ivory horns.
Glassleaves
Neifert, B. K. Fairyland. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2020. pp. 554.
Winter berries, so red on the vines
Draping over the glass'ed scene.
Blazing morn of the December fall
With the yellow-orange leaves framed by ice.
Walking through, the water bubbles
From the ground's sheet of ice---
The soft crust of ice---give way
With tender sounds like sawing bread.
Upon the ground is a picture
Framed, the patterns of the forest floor.
Leaves, in their tender reds, golds and brown
Framed by the solid sheet of glass.
Like walking on a glass bottom floor
With the delicate leaves framed beneath,
The soft crust of ice gives its breath
As soft steps press down upon the ice.
The Clockwork of the Heavens
Neifert, B. K. Three. Kindle Direct Publishing, 2022. pp. 215.
The snow falls, and it muffles the town’s noises;
The children stir in their beds
Waiting for their toys.
Peace and Righteousness cross their solemn course
In the heavens, as David with his sling
Rises once again in the East.
The Triune sinks beneath the Western sky
For the Solstice is nigh.
Families meet together
In this slumberous season;
Times wind slow
To the clockwork of heaven.
Merry Christmas
The Kind of Wife I Want
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
I want a wife who will walk with me through rain---
No metaphor is being made there, but to find pleasure
In the freedom of going out into a rainy day,
Where there is no thunder, and get soaking wet
Through the raincoat.
I want a wife who will, in that perfect day in June,
Look for a Mayapple to bite, and pull the string
Out of the honeysuckle, and eat the little drop of nectar
And will eat mulberries over blackberries
And will seek out the wild strawberry and raspberry.
I want a wife who will have long talks about poetry
And philosophy, and religion, and science, and math
And art, and psychology, and sociology,
And gardening, and nature, and friendship won
Over the deep stuff... not the small talk.
I want a wife, who will play games with me
Whether it be Scrabble, or Chess, or Magic the Gathering
Or Pinochle, or Cribbage, or Rummy or Catan, or Risk
Or we will tell stories to each other, and daydream
Together of worlds far away.
I want a wife who makes love, and time for love
And wants me by her side at all hours:
She doesn't tire of me, and she doesn't talk down to me
And she doesn't baby me, or avoid me.
She is affectionate, and when I embrace her, she does not shrink back.
I want a wife who does these things,
And maybe I will climb the birch tree and fall down with it.
And maybe I will hook the horse up to plough
And maybe I will get strong and mighty
For I love her more than I love myself.
For that is what we all need, is a person we love more than ourselves.
The Politics of the Forrest
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
I.
I hear you, as the roses give their scents
And you sang at my window in February.
A muse for a poem... so beautiful is your song...
I know not what you are, but you sing
"F F F Eb a sesqui-flat D and Db."
What beautiful bird are you?
I don't know.
II.
God, You listen carefully to the woods
And on every sparrow You bend Your watchful ear.
Such importance in it, every elm and oak
You see, and You see the Rosebushes
Are strangling the Mighty Oaks and Sycamores
And over yon the fox goes on his hunt;
Careful, You watch over the forest
So secluded in the wood.
The hiker goes and urinates on the side trail
As the deer moves across the woods;
Its tail a white mercy flag thrown as it flips up
Like a terrier's ear.
III.
The oaks and maples' roots try one another
For the nutritious soil fed by scat and decayed foliage.
There, You see them, giving eye to their war
And You watch them, listening to them
Knowing the forest does this ever so slowly
And methodically, creeping vines up the tawny
Woods, and poison ivy, and rose hips,
And at the bottom of the forest are the season's flowers.
And there, the little Mayapples do battle with the Bluebells
And they suffocate one another, and do war
The lily of the Mayapple and the blue bell of the bellflower;
Or the violet bellflower in the later months.
IV.
On and on, the forests go, the geese with their little goslings
They twaddle there and here, and everywhere
In their lines like little schoolchildren
But stand boldly in front of traffic;
For they tempt fate, but the mercy of man
Is as severe as his cruelty.
The goose hisses at the passerby
And the bird sings her songs in the holly bush
Making summer flowers.
The mulberries are ripening
And the sycamore fruit and pods are matured
And the samaras are there on the maples
And the hickories are being formed;
So are the walnuts, to breed and send their little saplings
Into the world if fertilized by the tree's sexual intercourse
Pollinated by the bees, and male and female upon the same floret.
The ivy vines grow around the branches and tangle them up
And sap the energy from their vines;
The chlorophyll in the leaves make sugars
And the sap grows in the trunks.
V.
The trees, they struggle violently for half a century
To grow tall, withering branches, and they fall from the storms
Which the winds blow and prune them
And their roots tangle, and the water is fought for.
Slow and methodical is this war;
Ever growing the trees try to reach to the sky
And God is ever faithful, listening to their wars
And seeing the alliances made,
And nature go its course,
Carefully listening, seeing, watching,
Knowing... He is worried about the Roses strangling the Oak
And worried about the Squirrels whether they have found nuts.
On they go, making their choices, but where they have fallen into the mud
The trees grow, and cannot but grow, or they don't.
Worried about the majestic woodpecker, with red crest
Finding grubs and ants, that she is fed.
VI.
Along the way, they grow tall, and bare branches
Show lost battles, where the deer scratched their antlers into the bark
Or the carpenter ants ate their cores,
Or the other trees blocked out the sun,
And all the animals go about their business
Eating, gathering, seeking, finding, and sometimes they die.
They go, in a wild fashion, their wars unseen or untold by the annals of our history books
And the mighty trees fall, and others replace them
And there they silently go about their work
And God listens carefully, interested in everything.
The report from the Maples that they have grown strong
Their leaves have changed for fall,
But a little early, sometimes a little late,
Their sap is growing, they go sent in their design
To do what their Genetics tell them, sculpted by nature
In its own unique form---for the tree grows according to its DNA
And is sculpted by its environment in a different way
And two completely new things are done with a unique Genetics
And a unique environment, it grows
But we still know what kind of tree it is
By its leaves and fruits.
VII.
And finally, God bends over listening to their politics
And their moving, the bird's language speaking all day
And the rabbits and chipmunks going along the forest floor
And the foxes and feral cats hunting.
They go, the toad scampers, a new thing, and not yet fully grown
It hops there, and the matured one, ever so lucky
It had reached its full maturity it dies old.
So does the squirrel grow old, and some do not.
The herring and the crane fish,
Where the school of sunnybass feed upon the crickets and mosquitos.
The bats fly through the branches at night
And the owls perch there, and the eagles, and hawks
As the doves sing their song "Whoo-o whooo: whoo whoo"
And as the song began with the birdsong
So shall it end.
And winter comes, and the forest sleeps.
Calculus Leaf
Neifert, B. K.. Natures Portraits, WordPress.com, 2024.
Walking down my path,
I notice the gray heron sitting on a branch
At the lake, and it looks like a wolf almost
Or a bear, eerie to behold.
Boredom sets in, however,
For I am ever uninspired today...
Until, the Majesty of Radians begins to grow in my head.
“Why?” Certainly because the radius is one
Yet, I look at the leafs, and through calculus
Reduce to infinities to the answer...
Two, infinitely reduced to the semicircle's edge
Equals pi for the circumference... for it must.
And then that same ratio relates to an area.
And then I look at a leaf, and realize a similar axiom
Behaves for the curve of that eccentric edge
That through similar calculus
Relating the rate of change, and slopes
Negatives used when the leaf perforates
In the other direction,
Enclosing around an area,
That that number, relates to a specific eccentricity
Just like Pi does for a circle.
If the radius is .5, the radian is different
But we use the radius as 1.
And so for the leaf, too...
Such abstract concepts become concertized.
And that eccentricity is the ratio of that curve,
No matter what, in both circumference and area,
And all other things.
So also, that leaf, where cross divided,
If it's divided across the exact middle,
If circumscribed in a square where the
Flat divide is equal to one,
There begins to be a difference of number,
Like with a circle,
And that is the eccentricity of one side of that leaf.
Then, I get in the car,
And hear the preacher talk of the Genius
Who invalidates addition,
Saying “1+1 on Pluto might not equal 2.”
And I wonder if I'm on Pluto...
But here, on Planet Earth,
These laws are always true
And I trust it's the same on Pluto, too
And this genius is not quite so.
B. K. Neifert 