The Rainsong

I love a nice spring shower; the scents and sounds fill the air and my heart with a dreamy fog. I love everything about spring and I am glad it is finally here! So I share with you a poem about a spring shower. The Rainsong. Let me know what you think! I really appreciate your comments and feedback. Thanks!

The Rainsong

The titter of rain fell upon the roof like the steady chant of a drum,

A rhythm only known in Nature’s orchestra

Like a lute or harp the drips pluck the blooming branches of the young canopy,

Dripping into melodic memories as they steep into the Earth

The distant drum of thunder sounds in the distance

I soak in the sounds of spring just outside of my window and smile

With eyes closed I drink in the scents and sounds,

Filling a void in my heart

I become lost in the music, lost in a trance,

A guest in my own mind

The rainsong took me then, took me deeper into my dreams

I followed each tit and each tat that sounded on the rooftop

I became a note, a tear in the clouds

And like a tear I fell

Though the sky I flew, a raindrop in freefall;

Though the trees I fell, an ephemeral teardrop

On the roof I fell and spilled into beads,

Slipping away down the slope

To meet the soft, wet ground

Without a sound I kissed the Earth

And became whole again

The distant drum of thunder woke me from my dream

I wiped my eyes awake again and listened for the rain

The clouds had gone, the storm was free

I went outside and breathed in the heavy scents of the wet Earth

The rainsong was over,

And a rainbow watched over the land in its wake

Like a silent bridge in the footnotes of the song

A bridge between reality and dreams

A bridge leading home

A bridge to heaven

                                     - Piper Quinn

Paradise

Hey, everybody! It's been a while since I've shared anything with you, I know. But the other other day I was on a hike and out of nowhere a couplet verse popped into my head. When I arrived back home I immediately wrote down those lines. The next day I went back to it and finished the poem. So here it is: Paradise. Enjoy! (please leave your comments! thanks!)

Paradise

You do not need a stethoscope

To listen to your heart

And the beauty of the Soul

Is the truest form of Art

So like the trees in autumn

When the leaves begin to fall

Abandon inhibition

And reveal your Self to all

Strip your Soul to Oneness

And bear your naked bones

And brag about your riches

To the kings upon their thrones

The ones who stand by watching

Are the ones who’ll never know

The one true path to happiness

That only you can know

For the light upon your path

Is a light that never fades

And the music that you hear

Is for your own parade

A march into the distance

Where the laughter never dies

And no one ever hurts

And no on ever cries

A Paradise within you

A Paradise without

So raise your voice in song

And laugh and dance about

When the Gates of Golden open

And reveal the splendid view

Let your eyes look upon

This belongs to you

Paradise

                            - Piper Quinn

Seeds

Seeds

The seeds are searching, searching for a home,

As they descend the wild spires of twisting hope

Into the unknown vastness that is Nature

Their fate is certain, if only unknown,

Yet they stay true in their uncontrollable flight,

Not wishing for one single moment

That they could be somewhere else

Anywhere else

For though they cannot control their path,

Nor do they know their destiny,

They know they must be brave,

They know they must keep faith,

For without faith they are nothing;

Without faith they cannot grow, cannot survive,

Cannot live.

The seeds take heart in the chill of uncertainty

As their descent quickens, bringing them closer to Earth

For though they are small their mission is great

And they must head on as the winds of fortune

Toss them about like feathers in a storm

But fear not, seeds,

For the storm is clearing and a new dawn awaits

The coming sun will welcome you

And the quiet, soft ground will accept you into her arms

In a loving embrace

Your search is over as your head comes to rest on the Earth,

A plot sanctioned by fate and adorned with promise

Your toil is over,

Your flight is at an end,

But your life is only beginning

As you find purchase in this soil

Know that whatever may be, and whatever may come,

Nothing is beyond your reach

So stay strong, and be brave, little seeds

Now is the time to grow,

Now is the time to live

You are home

                                      - Piper Quinn

The Lark

I love birds. Their songs, beauty, and habits are all so inspiring. Every song and feather are just fascinating! I find solace in their songs; joy, peace, and comfort. Their freedom and song touch me. Here is a poem I dedicate to a bird I once knew.

The Lark

You found me there in profound despair

Counting the shadows of night

The song you share filled the air

As you sang to me mid-flight

A song of joy, a song of hope,

A song of life and love

A song of insight, beauty, and luck

Not unlike the dove

The lark: my messenger in the dark

                                                         - Piper Quinn

See Yonder Forest

I just love living out in the countryside, it's where my heart will always belong. The big cities are just too cold and lonely for me. I need the free-spirited wind in my hair and the fresh scents of wildflowers in my chest. There's just an unparallelled beauty in nature that seems to be growing distant in these times of urbanization and technological mayhem. Forget the iPhone and Facebook, give me a tree any day!

See Yonder Forest

See yonder forest all pleasant and green,

Just past the pastures and rivers serene?

‘Tis home to a life seldom recalled

In the hustle and haste of a city tight-walled

Where kings of great fortune and common alike

Live unaware of the glorious sight

For beyond their horizon and over their walls

Lay freedom abundant in Nature’s great halls

But blind are they all living with speed

They’ve forgotten the greatest of all greatest need

To feel the soft grass and scents of the trees;

The beauty of flowers and the trickling streams;

The blessings of Nature and the touch of the wind;

Where bird, beast, and flower all call each a friend

What is their duty and what is their fate,

Those living lives within that tall gate?

They may never know and nor shall I

So I’ll keep on dreaming with an eye to the sky

                                                                           - Piper Quinn

My Favorite Tree

Hey! What's your favorite tree? Birch, sycamore, willow, oak, maple, hickory, cypress, lilac, cottonwood, catalpa, mulberry, peach, apple, cherry, orange, plum, any tree! Please share your story on what's your favorite tree and why. It could be that your favorite tree is a flowering tree that always brings you joy to see; or perhaps your favorite tree always gives you juicy, ripe fruit; or maybe there was a certain tree you used to play in as a child that fills your memories with happiness. Whatever your tree, please share your story, I would love to hear it.

My Favorite Tree

Find me in my favorite tree

Hanging, dangling, feeling free

It’s where I always long to be

So find me in my favorite tree

                                              - Piper Quinn

Branches

Seasonal changes are all so beautiful, seeing the changes in the trees. The transitions from spring to summer and then from summer to fall and into winter, then back again to spring in time. It shows us that the world is always changing and time goes on, like a river or the wind. Here is a seasonal poem I've finished up that I'd like to share with you. Please share your thoughts with me as well, I'd love to hear what you have to say. Thanks!

Branches

In the spring the trees all bloom

And paint the blue sky new

They light the clouds each afternoon

And paint the pastures too

In summer sun the trees all sway

And dance in whispering wind

They look like children as they play

And to the laughter tend

In the fall the tress all praise

And wear their garbs of gold

They shine like kings in royal blaze

And like the kings grow old

In winter harsh the trees all freeze

And gather the falling snow

They hold their breath and loose their leaves

And dream of summer’s glow

With every season all are showing

The branches ever all are growing

                                                         - Piper Quinn

Starlight

I find myself drawn to the romance of the night; all the sounds, sights, and serenity surrounding me and embracing me in the cool and gentle arms of twilight. There's just something magical about starlight, yes? In this mood of nighttime equanimity, I have a poem I would like to share with you. Please have a read and let me know what you think of it, I would love to hear what you have to say. Thank you, and sweet dreams!

Starlight

Guardians of Time everlasting

Immemorial spirits fly

Like wondrous birds of starlight

Streaming ‘cross the sky

They sing an unsung melody

On harps and flutes of light

Filling the air with laughter

As the wind echoes delight

And from their wings of twilight

A feather slowly fell

I catch it in my silent slumber

Whilst dreaming in the dell

“Hope is all but fleeting”

Cried the willow in the night

While creatures glad and lonely

Bathe in sacred starlight

                                       - Piper Quinn

Little Brown Mouse

Here's a cute little poem I wrote yesterday that I'd like to share with you. Sometimes I just like to take a break from critical thinking and just write something short and sweet. It's kind of like a relaxation exercise for the brain... if that makes any sense... I would love to hear what you think! Please drop me a comment below!

Little Brown Mouse

Little brown mouse, hiding in the snow

Leaving tiny footprints wherever you may go

Let not the owl see, let not the great hawk know

As you go on hiding, hiding in the snow

                                                                 - Piper Quinn

This Lonesome Trail

This Lonesome Trail

This lonesome trail once held great life

It saw both creatures great and small

Fox, doe, coyote, coon, bear, mouse

Yet now this trail is old and worn

No prints can be seen

The trees have shrunk back from this tired trail

Even the wind won’t touch it

Such sadness fills my heart to look upon this dust

Dried leaves lay crushed in the wake of time

A feather slowly falls to meet the battered soil

May the blight upon this land take my soul!

My knees shake, my chest tightens, and I fall to the ground

It is not the torture of time that ravages this trail

It is not the will of the Earth

This is the mark of man

The most fearsome beast of all

                                          - Piper Quinn

Marigolds in Spring

I took a long hike yesterday afternoon though the snow-covered hills and trees. As beautiful as it was with all the white branches and fresh pure snow, I found myself missing spring. I love winter, I think there is just something magical about snow and ice, but sometimes I yearn for the sweet scents of spring. I want to feel the warm breeze in my hair and the caress of soft grass between by toes. I wrote this poem after my hike yesterday. I hope you like it!

Marigolds in Spring

On winter nights when cold sets in

A deepening longing grows within

Within my soul, within my heart

This is when the yearnings start

When ice and snow cover the ground

When the moaning wind is the only sound

I slip away to my own green place

The only time when I feel safe

It’s always spring in my green land

Always warm like sun-kissed sand

My home is there on sylvan shores

Near wind-swept fields and mossy moors

Where brooks begin and winter ends

I follow birds around the bends

Of winding creeks like sparrows sing

Just like the marigolds in spring

                                                    - Piper Quinn

How Long does the River Run?

How Long does the River Run?

How long does the river run?

Will it ever find the sea?

If I follow its winding curves,

Will the river set me free?

How tall does the sycamore spread?

Will it ever cease to grow?

If I climb its silver branches,

Will I see what it will show?

How far does the north wind carry?

Will it ever come to rest?

If I give my heart to Nor’easter,

Will it fill my empty chest?

How steep does the mountain climb?

Will it ever touch the sky?

If I reach its snowy summit,

Will I hear the heavens cry?

How wide does the sunlight shine?

Will it fill the whole world ‘round?

If I bathe in rays of sunlight,

Will peace and life be found?

How long does the river run?

The river runs forever

                                                - Piper Quinn

By Cover of Night

Have you ever gone hiking at night? It's like the forest completely transforms into something else, something mysterious and eerily beautiful. The way the moonlight shimmers on the leaves and reflects off the still waters of the little creek. The hoot of an owl and the howl of a wolf in the distance. It's magical. Just be careful, remember that you are not alone the forest.

By Cover of Night

By cover of night she finds her way

The scarlet fox in stillness crept

A silent shadow in the foggy twilight

Over fallen trees and thickets leapt

By cover of night she watches all

The great white owl in moonlight flew

A hovering cloud in the midnight air

Beyond the trees and rivers true

By cover of night she hunts for food

The silver wolf in darkness ran

A rushing wind within the woods

Forever hunting since time began

By cover of night she sneaks about

Little brown mouse in haste prepared

A frightened shuffle on the forest floor

Be ever wary, be always scared

By cover of night I’m not alone

The passing hiker hiking home

                                                 - Piper Quinn

The Swallow Song

The Swallow Song

I heard her singing, but I don’t know what she said

I can feel her words echo still to this day

They were sweet words, soft words, words of love and hope

I remember her tone, her gestures, and moves

But her message eludes me like fog in a wind

She was only there but once, perched on the roost

She never came back, she never came back

Her song was so strong, so vivid, and clear

But her words have been lost, like sand in the sea

This want in my heart burns like the Sun

To know her sweet words, her freedom, her wings

Sing to me again, O! swallow of spring

Sing me your song so that I may feel again

Feel what you feel, know what you know

I long to sing with you and fly in the sky

To spread my own wings and join in your glorious flight

O! what freedom and joy, such marvel and joy!

This is your gift, your gift unto me

I now know your song like the rush of the wind

Like the rivers and creeks and the woods and the fells

Your song has no words, only rhythm and feel

And each sylvan note is a message to all

Of hope, love, and freedom and joy to us all

                                                     - Piper Quinn

There is just something alluring, something inciting about birds. Their beautiful songs; their magical feathers and plumes; their freedom. I have always been fascinated by birds ever since I was a little girl. I used to sit at the window and watch them for hours as they played. My grandparents lived in a nursing home when I was young, and the home had a wonderful aviary. Every weekend we would go up to see them and my grandmother would take me down to see the hundreds of finches, canaries, and songbirds. I guess that's where I found my passion for birds.

Have you ever had a similar experience? Is there something in your life, a moment or a memory that inspired  you or influenced you, shaping you into who you are today? Can you connect your passions to one moment in time? Please share your story.

Melting Snow

All our snow is melting. A week after our big snowstorm, things have warmed up. With the rising temperature comes wet snow piles, messy slush, and mud. Some people think it's just nasty and ugly. But if you can find the right spot, the perfect view, things don't look so bad. Sometimes there is beauty in the most unlikely of places.

Melting Snow

Where does it go, the melting snow?

Back into the Earth

To feed the trees and animals

And sew the seeds of birth

Where does it go, the melting snow?

Back into the sky

To float around above our heads

And fall like tears we cry

Where does it go, the melting snow?

Back into our hearts

As memories of yesterday

Resting where it starts

                                   - Piper Quinn

Blessed Moonlight

A short poem I wrote on a cloudless evening under the protection of a full moon.

Blessed Moonlight

O! Blessed Moonlight, show me the way!

Show me to freedom

Show me the way

O! Blessed Moonlight, show me the way!

Save me from ruin

Don’t lead me astray

O! Blessed Moonlight, show me the way!

Send me to Heaven

To where I may lay

O! Blessed Moonlight, show me the way!

Show me to solace

Show me the way

                           - Piper Quinn

Memory Rain

Hey, everyone! I have a piece of short fiction to share with you all this evening. I've been mostly cooped up inside the house recently with the snowstorm that passed through, so I decided to take up my pen and employ it. Here is the result. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Memory Rain

The rain was relentless that shivering day, I don’t know how it didn’t freeze. I was alone in the cabin. It felt like I was all alone in the whole wide world. There was no one around; no people, no deer, no birds, no squirrels… Well, I suppose there was Kodi, but he had been in hiding in the doghouse all day with no intention of venturing from that tiny safe haven. He hated the rain as much as I did. It was miserable. So there I was…

            It didn’t take long for cabin fever to set in. Just three hours had passed and I had already cleaned and tidied up the entire cabin; alphabetized the books in the study; organized the spice rack; washed and dried two loads of laundry; and played 24 games of solitaire. I only won twice. I was two minuets away from going completely crazy. Just as I was about to curse the rain aloud, I stood up from my place at the coffee table in the living room and hit my head on a poorly placed shelf, knocking it off the wall. It took all my energy to keep from expressing my anger and pain on the chair I had been sitting in. I sighed deeply as I placed the shelf back where it was. I picked up all the books and trinkets and replaced them on the shelf. But as I picked up the last old tome something fell from within the pages to the floor. As I knelt down to pick it up a loud thunderclap startled me. I hate the rain.

            It was a photograph. An old photograph. A smile found its way to face as I looked over the faded photo. It was my sister and I standing next to a small snowman. We couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. We were laughing. We were so proud of our little lumpy snowman. Corncob pipe in his coal-dot mouth, stick broom in hand, and an old red hunting hat on his misshapen head. I had never seen this picture before. I laid it down on the coffee table and sat down. I looked at the book’s cover, but it was blank. I could tell it was old. There were small scratches on the soft leather covers and the yellowed pages smelled like an ancient library. So I opened the book to investigate further.

            It was a diary. My mother’s diary. There were notes scribbled in the margins, little doodles of flowers and birds, and several more pictures tucked in between the fragile pages. Once I started reading I couldn’t stop. I never knew she had kept a diary! There were a lot of things I never knew about my mother. We lost her when I was too young. But as I read her intimate notes, it felt like she was right there next to me. Most of the pages were dedicated to my sister and I and our daily activities. Many of the entries had matching photographs to go with them, bringing the words to life. I was taken down memory lane in those pictures. My sister and I riding matching tricycles, and fighting over whose trike was whose. We baked cookies together, played in the snow, finger painted, swam in the pond, we did everything together. And our mother never missed a moment. Sitting there by the fireplace I smiled, laughed, and cried as I absorbed my mother’s diary. I had never felt so close to anyone in my life than in that one moment.

            I sat there at the coffee table thumbing through my mother’s memories, making them my own. Before I knew it, it was dark outside. I looked at the clock. It was nearly 11:00! I placed the dog-eared diary back on its shelf and just sat there for a moment longer. Thinking. Then I went to bed.

            To my great pleasure, sometime in the night the rain had turned into snow, coving the landscape in a soft veil of pure white. A much more welcome precipitation in my opinion. Before I had even taken the first

sip of my mourning coffee, a knock came on the cabin door. I tied my robe and opened the door. It was my father and uncle. They had just gotten back. Behind them I could see my sister rolling around in the snow with Kodi, laughing and taunting him with a rawhide bone. He was in much better spirits today since the rain had gone. I’m not sure who was having more fun, her or the dog.

            “Morning, Sunshine!” My father said with a grin a mile wide. “Have a nice time in the cabin all by yourself yesterday?”

            I took a deep breath and sighed with a smile, looking back at that poorly placed shelf. “I sure did.”

The Winter Sparrow

In the past few days we've received a lot of snow. The barren fields surrounding my home look like endless frozen seas of snowy waves. The woods behind my house are beautiful, all white and pure; heavy pine branches bowed from snow, icicle chandeliers adorning the oak and hickory... breathtaking. And after the snow stops falling, the sun comes out and the little birds that never go all hop about and brave the January tundra. That is where this next poem come from, from the snowbound sparrows.

The Winter Sparrow

Watch her race, watch her run

The winter sparrow all alone

Is she tired, is she cold?

The winter sparrow far from home

Watch her dance, watch her play

The winter sparrow in the sun

Is she happy, is she well?

The winter sparrow O so young

Watch her hide, watch her cry

The winter sparrow lost in flight

Is she lonesome, is she scared?

The winter sparrow dark as night

Watch her sing, watch her sigh

The winter sparrow in the snow

Is she me, is she you?

Winter sparrows only know

                                       - Piper Quinn

The Woodsman & the Doe

Hey, everyone! I'd like to start things off with a poem I've just finished writing a few days ago: The Woodsman
& the Doe. This poem was inspired by a story a friend of mine passed along about a hunter who, rather than killing a wounded deer, took it upon himself to nurse the newborn doe back to health. Please let me know what you think. Thanks! Enjoy.

The Woodsman & the Doe

Lay me down, O woodsman wise

I am a wounded doe

My sight is dim, my skin is cold

This is my time to go

The huntsman’s snare about by leg

Has made me weak and faint

My heart is weak, my will is gone

Please come to me, my saint

But as you gazed into my eye

Your arrow on the mark

You saw inside a dimming light

That hid inside your heart

The light grew strong inside your soul

You lower slow your bow

Within your arms like timbers strong

You carried home this doe

By firelight you nursed my wound

And warmed my weary bones

Gave me shelter, food, and drink

And shared with me your home

We lived together in the woods

In your cabin on a hill

All winter long we became friends

And friends we remain still

When spring was near we parted ways

The woodsman and the doe

We’ll met again, of this I’m sure

The wind has told me so

We still share the same one home

The forest and the view

So next you see my winter trail

Know that I will see you too

                                          - Piper Quinn