The Weekly Avocet #595 #Nature #Poetry #Magazine

The Weekly Avocet #595 #Nature #Poetry #Magazine

*Reader’s Note*

Sponsoring Member author Trish Hubschman’s poem Mother Earth is featured in this week’s issue.

If you enjoy it or any of the other poems found here, please do let the author know.

The Weekly Avocet – #595

April 28th

, 2024

Hello to our Poets and Nature-lovers of The Avocet community:

I hang out with clouds,

pines, robins, and pink roses

the trees and I talk

Carol Bezin – Arkdale, WI – angelbezin@gmail.comangelbezin@gmail.com

Submitted by Edwina KaderaA group of birds on the beach

Description automatically generated with medium confidence the queen of the berries

she can spot blueberries at a hundred paces

she’s the queen of the berries

the quintessential berry afficionado

in pursuit of blackberries and raspberries

blueberries and juneberries and mulberries

and once she locates their glorious source

there’s a feast to be had

a feast to end all feasts

there’s no patience for gathering

carrying away for later

there’s living only for those moments

of fructosic rapture

explosions of flavor

gastronomic bliss

i join her in her quest

revel in the spoils

and after … we journey on

with satiated bellies

stained sticky fingers

and smiles on our faces Lloyd Abrams

in the realm of the cormorant

a double-crested cormorant

is perched atop a wooden pile

sunk into the middle

of the milburn boat basin

it’s sun-drying its feathers

with wings folded

like an f35 lightning

tied down onto an aircraft carrier

with a deceptively leisurely liftoff

it swoops down

dives underwater

and soon emerges

with its wriggling prey

Lloyd Abrams – Freeport, NY – lbabrams@gmail.com worrying about the birds

we’ll be away for two weeks …

every single day for the past year

we’ve fed the birds

filled the suet cage

poured quarts of seeds into a lucite feeder

strewed handfuls of peanuts

for the blue jays and cardinals

for the red-headed woodpecker and

of course…

those incorrigible squirrels

they all certainly have a good thing going

so to salve my conscience

i put out two bricks of suet

tossed out fifteen handfuls of peanuts

and dropped an extra quart of birdseed

next to the feeder

i wonder how they’ll manage

of course everything we gave them

will be gone the first day–

that’s how quickly they’ll scarf it all down

i worry about them

hope they’ll be okay

Lloyd Abrams – Freeport, NY – lbabrams@gmail.comlbabrams@gmail.com

Mother Earth

I’m Mother Earth.

The sun is my daughter.

The moon is my son.

The planets and stars are members of my family.

Everyone in the solar system protects me, earth.

I’m proud of my family.

It’s the subjects within my planet

That aren’t always on my side.

Why is that?

Why should I fear my own people?

We should be working together for

our planet, Our people, our environment, our wildlife.

Trish Hubschman – Lancaster, SC – plutzhub@gmail.com Renewal

They cross the street slowly,

twelve of them,

tiny heads up,

flat feet planted firmly on the pavement.

Mother Goose leads the parade.

Father Goose guards the rear.

Cars stop.

Drivers relax.

Everyone smiles.

A tiny moment in a busy day.

A reminder of why we’re here.

Life renewing life. Sharon Canfield Dorsey

The Deer and me

I live with a herd of twenty-three deer.

They wander our streets and back yards

as if they own the neighborhood,

because they do. They were here first.

When I moved here, I declared supremacy

over the marauders, vowing to save

my flowers and vegetables inside

wire cages and behind high fences.

It took a couple of summers to succumb

to their superior skill and determination.

Tomatoes and petunias disappeared, wire

cages no match for hungry bucks with horns.

That winter, we had days of snow and ice.

When the snow melted, I discovered the ivy

beds around my deck had been eaten bare.

I rationalized leaves would return in spring.

They did and one day, I discovered a newborn

fawn, sleeping peacefully in the ivy bed, while

the new mom trustingly nibbled nearby.

We exchanged gazes. I happily surrendered.

Sharon Canfield Dorsey – Williamsburg, VA – shargypsy@aol.com My Secret Garden

(When I read story books to my grandchildren about fairies and magical places, I must admit

I sometimes wish for one of those secret hideaways where I could escape the complications

and responsibilities of adulthood. One evening, a friend took me on a tour of her springtime

garden. Beneath the trees was a perfect circle of Lady Slippers. The only thing missing was

fairies dancing in the moonlight.)

I have a secret hiding place,

a spot untouched by time and space.

It’s hidden underneath the trees,

and carpeted by last year’s leaves.

My favorite time is in the spring,

when Lady Slippers form a ring.

The scent of damp moss is perfume,

that permeates my outdoor room.

Wild birds become my loyal pets,

resting among the violets,

and when the moon is full and bright,

the fairies dance all through the night.

Sharon Canfield Dorsey – Williamsburg, VA – shargypsy@aol.comshargypsy@aol.com

Spring Arrives on Hummingbird Wings

Whirring green wings helicopter around my head,

pausing for lunch amidst the Linton roses I’m watering.

I hold my breath, hoping my guest won’t fly away.

The ruby-throated sprite steals a drink from the

hose spray, then settles into a large, water-filled leaf,

fluttering up and down, shaking droplets from tiny

feathers. She buzzes me one more time, as if to say,

“Thanks for the shower,”

before disappearing into the pink azalea bushes.

Spring has arrived.

Sharon Canfield Dorsey – Williamsburg, VA – shargypsy@aol.com A Song to Spring

(Can be sung to the tune of “London Bridge is Falling Down”)

Yellow pollen fills the air,

fills the air, fills the air.

Clogs our nose and gums our hair.

Falalalalala.

Then the rain comes falling down,

falling down, falling down.

Softens up the winter ground.

Falalalalala.

Makes the green grass grow and grow,

grow and grow, grow and grow.

Forces us to mow and mow.

Falalalalala.

Now I need to end this song,

end this song, end this song.

Glad you all could sing along.

Falalalalala.

Sharon Canfield Dorsey – Williamsburg, VA – shargypsy@aol.comshargypsy@aol.com

Springtime Battle

Mountains cry in spring,

giving up their icy crown

for humble blossoms.

Tears fill rocky creeks,

home to largemouth bass, catfish,

bound for spring’s table.

Sun warms dark hollows.

Lady slippers grace the crown.

Spring triumphs once more.

Sharon Canfield Dorsey – Williamsburg, VA – shargypsy@aol.com Being Indian

Being Indian is not just a percentage of bloodline.

It is a feeling in your heart, connecting

you to Mother Earth, to the ancestors.

It’s sitting beneath an ancient oak,

listening to the wind whisper to the leaves,

thanking the Great Spirit for his blessings.

It’s marveling at the grandeur of a canyon,

the quiet whir of tiny hummingbird wings,

lightning dancing across a darkening sky.

It’s shedding tears for concrete landscapes,

polluted air, and plastic-filled oceans.

Maybe that’s not just being Indian.

Maybe that’s being human.

Sharon Canfield Dorsey – Williamsburg, VA – shargypsy@aol.comshargypsy@aol.com

They go Home with You

Pine forest, they welcome you; and,

no feet, go with you home;

listen to the wind,

smell the world,

shiver in joy, sorrow, laugh, or muse

in angst of trees.

They welcome your visit,

with open arms of rough and soft

boughs; absorb and give out scent; fill

the lung with earthly breath, sweet and grand

of winter and summer.

They go with you when you leave,

share the heavenly dinner,

thought-free, comfy bed.

unbeknownst you, stay in your room and

soak into your blood and soul.

Byung A. Fallgren – WY – pyogool65@gmail.com Buds

some buds

are ready

some not

like

human

Byung A. Fallgren – WY – pyogool65@gmail.compyogool65@gmail.com

The Tulip

She began her day in April,

green and ambitious; the only survivor

of the five. What happened to the others?

Frozen by the April snow.

This March, with barmy days, she is

confused if it is May; balmy March,

can she see the world this early?

What if her tender greens would freeze

by the capricious wind, like an impatient

daddy bird chipping away the eggshell, only

to expose the unready one to its end.

She touches her finger above the soil;

feels the warmth of the sun! wonders if

climate change is real; this March’s like May!

can she sprout this early and still bloom?

Under the dry leaves, her tender greens

waits for May, just to be safe. Then

she would bounce to bloom; shout

at the world;

may climate change be benign! Byung A. Fallgren

Crocuses

new crocuses

eaten by a deer

wait for

next

spring

Byung A. Fallgren – WY – pyogool65@gmail.com Mother Nature

Look at what we’ve done?

We tarnished your beauty Mother Nature!

We turned a blind eye to you.

Your rivers no longer run clear.

Now, they look brown with excessive sediment,

or bright green from algae brought on by excessive fertilizer.

Your lush forests are denuded,

due to uncontrolled cutting, or naked because of acid rain.

We choke on air that is polluted with toxic gasses.

Our eyes burn and our cities have disappeared, due to dense smog.

Your wildlife is in peril because their habitat is gone.

The climate is changing, forcing them to scatter for survival.

But we know better now!

We realize that the environment isn’t free for us to do as we choose.

He gave us dominion, but that comes with responsibility.

We’ve become environmentalists and work to restore what we destroyed.

We educate so everyone knows about cause and effect.

We planted new trees that turn vivid colors in the Fall.

Our rivers are alive with fish and wildlife dwell in places other than a zoo.

We can take a deep breath and drink clean water.

The bluebird has returned, and eagles populate the sky.

The night is abuzz with the sound of crickets and fireflies light up the night.

Energy is conserved, so we don’t have to burn fossil fuels to generate it.

Clean energy has become a buzz word; we insulate and turn off unneeded lights.

But we still have much to do!

For one, we have to convince those

that take our environment for granted or pretend the obvious isn’t so.

We won’t mortgage the future for our children!

Welcome back Mother Nature!

Michael J. Brinkac – Charlottesville, VA – mnbrinkac@comcast.net Walking in Fireweed, a Remembrance

 

When we climbed the hill together

my old friend and me,

tawny grass close-covering the fields

rippled like a horse’s mane.

We eager hikers clambered up the steep path

through the orchard

passing pickers taking apples in sacks

stripping the trees

of Paula Reds and Jersey Macs.

These were early season apples, as you knew.

Leaning upon the lower branch

you observed how

the saplings shot their middle stems

to the sky

as if they had something to prove.

“Not me!

I’m as ancient as the cider trees

near the fireweed

down here.” you said,

but I blocked my ears.

In winter you passed on, missing this clear

Fall air, these tawny fields

that wave in ripple

patterns like a sorrel pony’s mane

over my dog cruising for quail.

I inhale the fragrance of windfall

apples and think of you leaning

on your branch, pointing

to the apples in the fireweed.

Thousands of purple blossoms

titillated by the wind,

spring up like armies.

This is the plant that covers

burnt-out land, bringing the balm of green

to desolation, – it gives back the seed

of what was lost.

This is how I’ll remember you, my friend,

sturdy as old cider trees,

blessed, among the fireweed.

Margaret Bobalek Kingon early spring day

Lake Petenwell calm and still

mirrors the sky

Carol Bezin – Arkdale, WI – angelbezin@gmail.comangelbezin@gmail.com

Sanctuary

When the sandpaper roughness

of human striving

bloodies and bruises

my fragile skin

and my eyes dull

to the chaos around me,

I quietly seek

the eternally open arms

of the natural world.

Where solitude

is no longer loneliness

and hope for renewal

survives

the harshest winter storm.

Where cool, gentle breezes

playfully lift my unkempt hair

and brilliant,

long-traveled sunlight

glows red

through closed eyelids,

bathing my battle-weary face

in comforting warmth.

Where birds alight upon

sheltered branches

singing ancient melodies,

dwells a deep, abiding peace;

a sacred stillness

within nature’s motion.

Living, breathing present moment,

immersed within

a landscape of kinship and truth.

Torie Cooper – Tempe, AZ – Torie.Cooper4@gmail.com

Kindness is a currency, having greater value than money…“You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you.

What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want

to make.” – Jane Goodall (Theresa Cancro – phoenixlady@comcast.net)

eleven years old

new hampshire, 1965

pup tent, silence

so many stars overhead:

my last whippoorwill

~ ~ ~

her last day

holding on for one more

strawberry

~ ~ ~

hyacinth

not knowing

what meant love to you

~ ~ ~

inching my way

across the icy porch–

crocuses!

~ ~ ~

flower pressed

into a book

still whispering:

forever

~ ~ ~

a night apart–

you email pictures

of turkeys

fanning their tail feathers

the females aren’t impressed

Kelley White – Philadelphia, PA – kelleywhitemd@yahoo.comstepping out the door

chickadee sits on the feeder

both of us stand still

Carol Bezin – Arkdale, WI – angelbezin@gmail.comangelbezin@gmail.com

Louisa Reid – Barboursville, VA – holdfastvaviasco@gmail.comA bee on a white flower

Description automatically generated“Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.” – Frank Lloyd

Wright (Theresa Cancro – phoenixlady@comcast.net)

Telling the Bees

(A villanelle titled “Telling The Bees” about bees and how important they are to our world. Its

inspiration was found in the Celtic custom of making certain to respect the beehive by informing

them of the death of a family member, lest they swarm and leave in grief.)

Lovely bees, golden bees–your master now numbers as one of the dead,

Leaving me, leaving you, this blithe garden sprinkled in diamonds of dew;

While the sun shone on the tears of white daisies weeping in their beds.

Pretty bees, please stay, don’t fly away–I will keep you safe in his stead,

Sowing clover in green pastures, seeding them full of flowers of blue.

Lovely bees, golden bees–your master now numbers as one of the dead.

Busy bees all a-buzz–I bring you this news before his rites have been read,

Draping black ribbons of grief over your hive–the shade of sad truths;

While the sun shines on the tears of stunned daisies weeping in their beds.

Worker bees toiling–breeding plants that will make our daily bread;

I pledge full faith in your Queen every day that dawns fresh and new.

Lovely bees, golden bees–your master now numbers as one of the dead.

Joyful bees–your amber sweet honey tastes of pure hope unsaid,

A stockpile of summertime when cold wind blows through the yews;

While no sun shines on the tears of dried daisies weeping in their beds.

Dear bees–leave and Earth’s dead, a waste land from which all colors have bled;

Please stay, seize the day, lest this world turn barren and nude as the Moon.

Lovely bees, golden bees–your master now numbers as one of the dead,

While the sun shines on the tears of white daisies weeping in their beds.

Louisa Reid – Barboursville, VA – holdfastvaviasco@gmail.com

“There’s a whole world out there, right outside your window. You’d be a fool to miss it.” –

Charlotte Eriksson (Theresa Cancro – phoenixlady@comcast.net)

no buds in morning

honeysuckle leafing out

in the afternoon

Carol Bezin – Arkdale, WI – angelbezin@gmail.com Louisa Reid – Barboursville, VA – holdfastvaviasco@gmail.comA close up of a white flower

Description automatically generated

shoots of green leeks up

tiger lilies six inches

sit in melting snow

Carol Bezin – Arkdale, WI – angelbezin@gmail.com Blue Crows

…and how like beings of a much higher order are these gay deceivers! – John James Audubon

Woven within spring’s opera of birdsong echoing through a bandshell of forest,

The single note of a blue jay trumps all other cascading arpeggios and textures,

Building into a complex canon performed by a joyous avian chorus.

But with a second raucous outburst, silence reigns after a throb of agitated wings.

Every bird stills, frozen under tented leaves… and the red-tailed hawk King

Glides soundlessly overhead, backlit in blue as he seeks his breakfast.

The silence draws out, thinner and thinner, a silken thread of breathlessness–

Until a flash of brilliant feathers bursts free of the trees, blue to match the sky,

Announcing the all-clear from danger as the sentinel jay delights in free flight.

Yet most watchers are disappointed that the azure streak does not belong

To an indigo bunting or a sweetly-singing mountain bluebird of happiness,

And disdains the crisp uniforms worn by town-crier jays, male and female.

Based on a longtime reputation for mischief which humans should recognize

As similar to their own knavery, little old ladies wage war on “nasty birds!”…

Perhaps unaware of their talents and intelligence, perhaps out of a jealousy

Born of a secret admiration of the undeniable skills of these master magicians.

Armed with the age-old handy weapon: the witch’s broom living on the porch,

A silver-haired brigade tries to rout brazen flocks of jays from feeders,

In favor of less boisterous birds who are just as capable of skullduggery–

Like the doves who are all too eager to put aside peace in favor of tasty treats.

Members of the tribe of Crow, blue jays wear their wizardry on their backs:

Their bright sapphire feathers all an illusion– a glamorous refraction of light.

They sing notes one to the other so sweet and pure one looks twice,

Seeking a nightingale as the source of such an impossible beauty in song.

Tight-knit families chatter all the news of the forest as they cache acorns,

And many a sacred grove of oaks has been planted by blue Merlin birds,

Who nest there to keep their babies immersed in the power of the trees.

Masters of subtleties, each jay’s plumage is different while seeming the same–

Each black neck amulet being as unique as a name.

Crests raised with the curiosity of the clever, they swarm to my feeders

By fives and by tens, and I marvel how quickly spreads word of a bird nerd.

Heads a-tilt, they ponder how to dazzle the cat with sleight-of-wing trickeries,

Listen to the incantatory chants of the warm west wind,

And coven together to share the ways of pure magic with their spells of blue.

What say ye, countrymen, to a jabber of jays?

I say stay–you wizards of the wind and teach me the sorceries of air.

Louisa Reid – Barboursville, VA – holdfastvaviasco@gmail.com “In a world where you can be anything, be kind.” – Dr. Seuss

There was snow and ice

then rain and sun mixed the dough

earth rises alive

Aimé E Duclos – South Berwick, ME – ajduclos@gwi.netajduclos@gwi.net

Again

in the time it takes

for a robin to wrestle and wolf a worm

winter has withered

and spring has sprouted

snow coated everything a sinking memory

feeding flora into verdant view

once folded and frozen lilacs

arise with wisps of green garnish

explode as I watch

while I sip this morning’s Sumatran joe

warmed by a bright bountiful sun

aglow through the kitchen window

a scene stolen from past Aprils

revived in renewal

rebirth of green grass

forsythia again creamy butterscotch yellow

squill swimming blue smooths

soothes frosted strands

tendrils of warming hearts

in the time it takes

for a robin to wrestle and wolf a worm

Aimé E Duclos – South Berwick, ME – ajduclos@gwi.netajduclos@gwi.net

“The world of life, of spontaneity, the world of dawn and sunset and starlight, the world of

soil and sunshine, of meadow and woodland, of hickory and oak and maple and hemlock

and pineland forests, of wildlife dwelling around us, of the river and its wellbeing — all of

this [is] the integral community in which we live.” Thomas Berry (Theresa Cancro –

phoenixlady@comcast.net)“We need joy as we need air. We need love as we need water. We need each other as we

need the earth we share.” – Maya Angelou (Theresa Cancro – phoenixlady@comcast.net)

An Interview with a Tree

As I walked through the forest,

I come across a dying tree.

I heard loud and clear,

how are you my friend.

I am by myself,

am I hearing things~I said out loud.

It is me your friend,

a dying oak tree.

Oh my,

a tree is talking to me.

Yes, I am old and at the end of my life span.

I guess as a tree you have seen many changes,

yes–from life to people.

The birds loved to build their nests,

and have their families in my branches.

In the fall the squirrels hid their nuts,

and I kept them warm in the cold winters.

The kids loved to climb me each summer,

and I loved to hear them laugh.

Why are you dying,

are you sick.

I am not sick,

I am worn out.

You see,

some cut my branches for fun and for firewood.

When I was young,

I kept growing.

Then they kept cutting,

more and more each year.

I could not keep up,

now my days are few.

I am dying,

my life has been fulfilled.

Paula Goldsmith – Mesa, AZ – wiinger@aol.com

Please be kind, write to each other…

(If you want to hear from poets about your work, then write them about their work) The Sacred Tree of Life

Out of Africa

we branched out,

our branches spreading skyward,

our roots diving deep

into the dirt of our Earth

for we all need

shelter from the storms,

sunlight, water, and good soil

if we are to all survive

and truly thrive in this world

to set ourselves free,

but from our beginnings

the tree of life is

heavily fertilized with greed

for we all come in different sizes,

we all come looking different,

some grow tall and strong,

while others remain small,

but we all need

sunlight, water, and good soil

to set ourselves free

but from our beginnings

there are those who

will block out the sun

for anyone not their kind,

there are those who

will not share the warmth

from high above,

won’t share the life-giving

gift of water

needed for all to survive

and truly thrive in this hard world

for the tree of life is

heavily fertilized with greed

where only the few will

allow others to know

the warmth of the sun

to grow up and out,

for our branches to touch the sky

for our roots to dive deep

into the dirt of the Earth

for in nature all life

is interconnected

if we are to all bear fruit. Charles Portolano – cportolano@hotmail.comThe Tree of Life is a symbol that represents the

interconnected nature of all things in the universe.

The Tree of life illustrating the three-domain classification of life-forms.Unlabeled graphic The tree of life

according to the three-domain system of biological classification.

In science the tree of life is often used as a metaphor for the connection between the diversity of

all life on Earth. Every organism on Earth appears to descend from a single common ancestor

that existed roughly 3.5 billion years ago. As that ancestor and its descendants reproduced, life

diverged in a process called speciation. These divergences are often compared to branches on a

single evolutionary tree. Phylogenetics is the study of how different groups of organisms are

related to each other, using genetics and other evidence to create diagrams that explain

evolutionary history, called phylogenetic trees (or phylogenies).

It is commonly depicted as a large tree with roots that spread inward to the ground, and branches

that spread outward to the sky. The idea of the Tree of Life is common in cultures throughout the

world, and it represents the source of life, a force that connects all lives, or the cycle of life and

death itself. The tree of life is a fundamental archetype found in many mythological, religious, and

philosophical traditions across the world. Its origins are deeply rooted in ancient symbolism and

cultural beliefs. Let’s explore its fascinating history:

Ancient Mesopotamia:

One of the earliest depictions of the tree of life can be traced back to ancient Mesopotamia. Here,

it appears as a sacred tree symbolizing the connection between the heavens, the earth, and the

underworld.

The Assyrian tree of life, represented by nodes and crisscrossing lines, held religious

significance. It often appeared in palace reliefs attended by winged genies or the king himself.

In the Epic of Gilgamesh, a quest for immortality involves searching for a “plant of birth” that

would grant eternal life.

Ancient Egypt:

In Egyptian mythology, the tree of life represented eternal life and regeneration. It was

associated with concepts of renewal and continuity.

Ancient Iran:

Avestan literature and Iranian mythology feature several sacred vegetal icons related to life and

immortality.

Notable examples include the Amesha Spenta, guardian of plants; the Gaokerena, a tree

symbolizing life in the universe; and the barsom, used in Zoroastrian rituals.

Norse Mythology:

The Norse believed in Yggdrasil, the world tree, which connected different realms: the heavens,

the earth, and the underworld.

Yggdrasil served as a cosmic axis, supporting the entire universe.

Biblical References:

In the Book of Genesis, the tree of life appears in the Garden of Eden. It is closely linked to the

tree of knowledge of good and evil.

The tree of life represents a connection between heaven and earth, and its fruit grants eternal life.

Iroquois Mythology:

According to the myth “The World on the Turtle’s Back,” the tree of life exists in the heavens

where the first humans lived. A pregnant woman fell from there and landed in an endless sea.

Celtic Culture:

The Celtic tree of life symbolizes the passage for deceased ancestors to cross between heaven

and earth. It is sacred and appears in tapestries, paintings, and statues.

In summary, the tree of life transcends time and culture, embodying themes of immortality,

fertility, and interconnectedness. Its roots run deep, intertwining with human beliefs and

aspirations throughout history

Tree of life, a widespread archetype common to many religions, mythologies, and folktales. The

tree of life is a common idea in cultures throughout the world. It represents, at times, the source

of life, a force that connects all lives, or the cycle of life and death itself. Common features of

various myths include supernatural guardians protecting the tree and its fruits that grant those

who eat them immortality. It is typically planted at the centre of the world, often within

a sacred garden or forest. The tree of life is closely related to both the world tree, a motif found

across many cultures that is typified by the Norse belief in the sacred tree Yggdrasill, and the tree

of knowledge, which was said to grow in the Garden of Eden in Abrahamic religions

(Judaism, Christianity, and Islam).A griffin depicted as nibbling on a sacred tree (left), carved ivory plaque from the Mesopotamian

kingdom of Assyria, c. 8th–7th century BCE.(more)

The motif of a sacred tree was common in ancient Mesopotamia and spread to many neighboring

regions, including Egypt and Greece. While scholars believe this tree symbol held religious

significance, there is no consensus that it represents the same tree of life idea that became a

feature of later religious art and thought in the region. In ancient Assyria this sacred tree became

a symbol of the divine order of things as personified by the king.

In some cultures a sacred tree was said to bear fruit that could grant immortality to the one who

ate it. In Chinese Daoist mythology the pantao is a peach that ripens once every 3,000 years and

is the food of the immortals. In Norse mythology apples of immortality are grown on sacred trees

guarded by the goddess Idun.

In the Book of Genesis, the first book of the Bible, both the tree of life and the tree of knowledge

are said to grow in the Garden of Eden. After Adam and Eve eat from the tree of knowledge,

God bars them from the garden, setting an angel with a flaming sword to keep them out so they

will not eat from the tree of life and become immortal. The idea of the tree of life subsequently

became important to many Jewish and Christian traditions. In Kabbala a numbered diagram with

a central trunk and branches reaching left and right is said to represent the attributes and powers

of God. Christian thought sometimes relates the tree of life to Jesus, the source of eternal life in

Christian theology. It is sometimes related to the cross upon which Christians believe Jesus was

crucified.

In Norse mythology Yggdrasill is an enormous ash tree that connects the nine worlds, including

the underworld (Niflheim), the earth (Midgard), and the realm of the gods (Asgard). Yggdrasill

is associated with both life and death: it acts as a gallows that the god Odin hangs himself from

in order to gain mystical knowledge, and it is said to be the source of new life after Ragnarök,

the catastrophic final war of the gods.

The Celtic tree of life is associated with the dead. Celtic tribes would preserve a tree in the centre

of their settlements to act as a sacred site. The tree was said to allow access to the Celtic

otherworld, a realm of the dead and other spirits.

Please share this issue with all those you know who love Mother earth, our only home we

have! Thank you.

Showcase your work in The Weekly Avocet.

Time to share up to four of your Spring

themed poems for The Weekly Avocet,

Spring photos (4),Spring haiku (up to 10),

Saving Mother Earth Challenge poems

(as many as you can write)

Please read the guidelines before submitting

 

Please send your submission to angeldec24@hotmail.comangeldec24@hotmail.com

Please put Spring/your last name in the subject line.

Please be kind and address your submission to me, Charles.

(Just so you know: I do not read work from a poet who doesn’t take the time

to address their submission to the editor, who they want to read their work.)

Please do not just send a poem, please write a few lines of hello.

Please do not have all caps in the title of your poem.

There is no line limit per poem.

Please no religious references.

Please use single spaced lines.

Please remember, we welcome previously published poems.

Please put your name – town, state – email address under your poem. No Zip

codes.

Please send your poem in both the body of an email and an attachment, no pdf

file.

We look forward to reading your Spring submissions…

The Burning Question for us Earthlings is:

What are you/we going to do to stop or even just slow down Climate Change?

 

Do you feel like there is nothing you can do about climate change? Well,

there is, even if we all do small things it will make a great difference. Alice C. Hill

(the David M. Rubenstein senior fellow for energy and the environment at the

Council on Foreign Relations.) states the first thing we all need to do is not shy

away from the subject. Talk about, write about, climate change to everyone you

know and meet. Write to your congressperson and Senators. Let them know what

you think and fear! I want to have, at least, one Saving Mother Earth poem in each issue of The

Weekly Avocet, so I am always looking for poems that address our most

important issues of today, so please write about what you think and fear of the

coming end of our world as we know it. A world our great grandkids will

never know. A Mother Nature who is no longer kind.

But if we join together, maybe, just maybe, working together, we can make

a difference to Save Mother Earth, the only home we have. Show you care.

There are so many topics to write about when it comes to Climate Change.

Please find one you are passionate about and write about it!

 

Write a Tell-off poem letting the world know what you are feeling about

what is being done right before our eyes by those who claim to want what best

for all of us.

 

Think it out in your head, then put it down on the page, then fight with it,

get your rage out, then send it to us to share, so you can see your voice, your

words, being read, being heard…

The American Avocet

I watch unseen this large,

long-legged shorebird,

with its pied plumage

and a dash of red

around its head and neck,

scampering along

the coastline

searching to snatch-up

some aquatic insect

or a small invertebrate

hidden beneath

the brackish waters

of this saltmarsh.

I watch unseen

it swing its odd,

long, up-curved bill

through the shallow,

still waters, catching

a tiny creature,

trapping it in its bill,

racing off to its nest to

feed her four hatchingswith this feast she found.

I watch in awe

as the male

grows protective,

fearlessly fending off

an encroaching

common black raven,

attacking this intruder,

striking at it with its bill.

I watch in wonder

as they swim as a family

just days after

the young ones are born,

then back to the nest to

rest where its kind flocks

together in a community.

Charles Portolano – Fountain Hills, AZ – cportolano@hotmail.com

If you would like to become a supporting member of The Avocet community,

The Avocet is only $28.00 for 4 perfectly bounded issues and 52 weeks of The

Weekly Avocet, every weekend, plus other poetry surprises, with the best

Nature poetry by the best Nature poets in America, a steal of a deal.

Please make your check out to The Avocet and send to:

The Avocet

P.O. Box 19186

Fountain Hills, AZ 85269

We hope we provoked you; that you leave having experienced a complete emotional response to

the poetry. I want to thank our Poets for sharing their work with us this week. And “Thank you

for reading, dear reader!”

Be well, see you next weekend,

Charles Portolano, Editor/Publisher and Vivian and Valerie Portolano, Co-Editors

of The Avocet, a Journal of Nature Poetry and The Weekly Avocet, every weekend.

Copyright © 2024 by The Avocet (for our poets)

2 Comments

  1. Trish Hubschman Reply
    April 28, 2024

    There’s such beautiful poetry each week. I share it with mom. She loves reading it.

  2. Hi, Trish.
    I enjoy reading this and your poem is lovely.

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