Little Creek – Day 23 – NaPoWriMo

Ambro creek, Monti Sibillini National Park, ne...

Oh, little creek that once ran deep and free,
your water then was pure without debris,
but now your bed of rock has vastly changed–
your counterpane and pillows, rearranged.
The taste of your cool water is now banned–
my son asks why and cannot understand
why no one cared enough to really try
to keep our land the way it used to lie–
soft greens that made a big umbrella shade
along your banks while sun-perch swam and played;
where hart’s breath blended with the mountain mist
as gray fog fingers touched the amethyst.
Non-biodegradable refuse floats
on your waterways like runaway boats.
Oh, little creek, if I could have one plea,
I’d beg to set you free from all debris!

Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols

Homeless in Spring

Bird Babies
The cardinal’s feathers contrasted
sharply with the hedge bush;
he flitted noisily nearby
until the buzzing hushed.

In disarray, the bush fell
to the daisy-dotted ground–
a hand reached to gather the limbs,
then stopped at a soft cheeping sound.

A nest of twigs and twine–
home of featherless bird babies–
once secureĀ on the fork of the limbs,
now lay scattered in the daisies.

The cheep-cheep of the birdies
could no longer be denied;
the big man picked them up
and with no one looking, cried.

Published in Ozarks Mountaineer,
The Arkansas Democrat Magazine,
and Poems by Poets’ Roundtable
of ArkansasĀ 

cCopyright, 2012 Freeda Baker Nichols