“To Find Green-Eyed God” – Exploring the Poetry of Nature
On this 16th day of August in the year 2024, the Dandelion Scribes present a selection of poems inspired by the natural world. Why should one endeavor to explore the poetry of nature? The final line of the inaugural haiku by Dane Osborne provides the answer: To find green-eyed God.
We Scribes respond to the great mystery by searching for meaning. Our sacred quest entails keen observation of the infinite wisdom blooming all around us, acknowledgement of the ancient cycles that move life ever-forward, and a thoughtful application of our discoveries to our understanding of the world. Writing our way through the journey, we allow ourselves the space to make sense of the complexity, and we open a dialogue with our fellow humans about the beautiful home we all happen to share. Together, we speak in conversation, seeking deeper connection—with all who read & write & breathe & dream. May our words take root in your heart and blossom; may you feel yourself within the woven, mycelial masterpiece; may you find your place & purpose in the consummate creation; may you see your own reflection in the mind of green-eyed God.
Featuring the following poets:
Dane Osborne, @daneosborne.85
Cari Lynne King, @inkstainedmemoirs
Mellisa Pascale, @mellisapascale
Paula Dixon, @music_poetry_pics
Amber Sparks, @asparkspoetry
Frances Denise, @francesdenisepoetry
Cheyanne Leonardo, @dithyrambler
Stephani Duff, @_stephduff
Olivia Gilreath
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
HAIKU FROM YESTERDAY
Mountains are magnets.
Folks flee here and then come back
To find green-eyed God
–Dane Osborne
⚘
GOLDENROD WOMAN
My Appalachian roots
grew Appalachian flowers
and Appalachian herbs
and soaked in the goodness
from Appalachian rain
falling upon Appalachian soil
Flowers and herbs
long used to comfort and heal
body, mind, and spirit
Sprout forth from the very ground
my naked toes
squish in a rainstorm
as I welcome the cleansing
I blossom anew
with each changing season
but remain ever true
to the unruly land
of Home
–Cari Lynne King
⚘
TO WISSAHICKON CREEK
To Wissahickon Creek my feet take me
whenever I’m in need of roaming thought;
the winding trails and waters flowing free
grant minds release to travel roads long sought.
To books fantastic oft my eyes take me,
for far realms tempt with wonders unexplored.
Each line grows rich with possibility—
strange creatures, lands, and wanderers unmoored.
To past and present shores my dreams take me,
old pages speckled black by ink bled through.
So muddled up are now and memory,
that waking finds reality askew.
When moon is round and night is old, I seek
those paths that run from Wissahickon Creek.
–Mellisa Pascale
⚘
BENEATH THE BONSAI
I remember back to the evergreen days of youth,
Dryads (Spirits Of Trees) played with all the mad abandon
Of a conscious animal beneath giant Bonsai trees
That bloomed in my backyard those infant years.
I was very young.
But I defy any Wiseman to tell me they were not real.
Those Dryads smoked dope and talked Jazz.
They informed me that ancient spells and the calm of modern stars
Are only the extension of a cosmic mind that hides and plays.
They swore that God spoke through Birds.
I remember the Dryads well.
Whenever lost in the morose traffic of humanity I often
Wonder if I'll ever see them again,
Playing with mad abandon beneath the Bonsai.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
Bare skin to saturated earth,
I step amongst the weeds.
Roll my eyes at the very idea,
Of saddling all things with rounded leaf weed.
As if only thin blades had a place.
If I catch my tongue in my teeth,
Resist the urge to lift my camera,
I find myself sharing the company
Of a bold sparrow,
A timid thrasher,
A thin grey squirrel.
I feel the pulse of the earth
Travel up my legs.
A soft steady heartbeat
Shared by all others
Standing bare feet on bare earth.
I picture you
On the jungle floor.
The sweet, wild juice of abundance,
Dripping down your chin.
Feel your fingers lace through mine.
As night falls
We turn our faces to the sky,
Howl at the moon.
–Paula Dixon
⚘
Guided by constellations in covers
draped haphazardly across
bodies biochemically bonded by bliss,
your hands roam through dark forests
across mountaintops to discover me,
like an insatiable explorer eager
to stake claim at each peak.
A reached destination
sends seismic sensations
subtly pulsating through the soles
of your wanderlust-laced boots.
Tonight, the earth moves
& I crumble for you,
while you take your time to
tenderly trace the trails
across my trembling topography.
In our midnight macrocosm
storm clouds rage & rivers flood
after sheets are set aflame.
I promise to cleanse the
aftermath of all that you torch
for regrowth, for healing,
for no one else could orchestrate
such a controlled burn.
–Amber Sparks
⚘
BUSY BEES
Busy bees
We don’t work for free
We create
Our own nourishment
And it just happens to be sweet
–Frances Denise
⚘
AFTER DUSK
On cemetery morns, the sparrows frisk
as clear light streams across the dewy moors,
o’er weathered stones, flat slabs, tall obelisks,
and mausoleums shut by iron doors.
By noon the graves are warm with summer sun,
and that’s where round woodchucks like to sit back.
From hole to headstone, fervently they run,
relax and only rise for grassy snacks!
Then shadows fall from every tree and rock,
the nests and burrows soon regain their friends,
for evening comes and onward goes the clock
as silence falls and daylight comes to end.
At dusk, angel statues make ghoulish shapes,
till darkness fills each space like mouths agape.
–Mellisa Pascale
⚘
HIDDEN WISDOM
I’m so impressed
Because I’ve never seen
A squirrel’s home in real life
But I just saw it clearly in my mind
And when I fall asleep again
I’ll return there
For someone whispered
There are answers
In how they keep things hidden
Wisdom in how they save
Pieces of life
For finding later
–Frances Denise
⚘
THE ISOLATION OF SPACE AND MATTER
I wish I could melt into clear liquid
And be like the blue nonspeaking ocean
So I may accumulate the experience
Of not thinking and not feeling anything
While still being everything
Before I become solid again and breath once more
In this living world of light and shade.
A prerequisite for overcoming the isolation of space and matter.
–Dane Osborne
⚘
BEAUTY
my brain is an orange
molding inside my head.
i’d like to say: throw me in the compost
and let me rot! let me rest! let me
become darkness! let me hold
new life – birth beauty
from the belly of being –
let me stop seeing
myself age, feeling the fade –
the fabric
u n r a v e l i n g
remembering
the tragedy of such an early
decline.
i descend without too much fuss
because i learned when i was young
that the worst thing you can be in this world
is a burden.
let me lie down, disintegrate
and deliver
the garden.
–Cheyanne Leonardo
⚘
Wild strawberries burst forth among hearty blades of
malachite grass, reminding the witness to never dull
their own hue.
Chicks and hens sprout new growth with every sunrise,
standing taller, voraciously flowering toward the sun,
unfolded for the quenching. Hearty, purple-edged,
surviving frigid winters – she shows us how to stand
firm, straight-backed, never cowering, no matter the
thick air swirling.
The pea vines take root– Shoot through metal chain
links, wind around worn, wood panels, attempt to
uproot house siding. And when the sun is low in the
sky, she blooms.
Periwinkle, fuchsia, robins egg blue – faces agape to
cool moonlight, honoring the light that guides their
unfurling. As Mother sun rises, they curl within
themselves, one final bow as I emerge with bedhead
and tangled dreams. Artfully, they exhibit a beauty
untouched by calloused fingertips holding brushes and
blenders. Pure and at the mercy of the natural world’s
rhythms…
Somewhere a baby takes their first breaths and a
beloved grandfather winks one last time at his
grandkids, and still the earth awakens, shoots forth
color and supernatural allure. We can grieve and
celebrate, one grasped firm in each hand, and the
macrocosm persists – preparations made to pilfer our
breath.
–Stephani Duff
⚘
THE VOYAGER
On New Year’s Eve, your cityscape will freeze,
dark roads will ice and fountains cease to pour,
while Tasman currents through the southern seas
drink daylight long and break on warmer shores.
And this was how it was to be with you,
when we thought In Between was destiny:
obsessed with when for this or that would do,
we settled time to buy infinity.
You counted golden leaves as swift they fell;
I chased cold meltwater to swollen stream.
Of time we both were true but didn’t tell
the where of when to realize our dream.
For comfort this I say, but truth be told—
I went to you, you left me in the cold.
–Mellisa Pascale
⚘
Tell me, little dove
when did your dreams die?
Who clipped your wings
(cut down as she sings)
& forbade you to fly?
Tell me, mourning dove
tears intertwining with rain,
who darkened the skies
(satiated with lies)
to camouflage your pain?
–Amber Sparks
⚘
TRUTH
Everything just is what is
And that's why us crazy folk
Know the sunlight and can
Feel the breeze.
Something known only by flying birds…
–Dane Osborne
⚘
RISING
Will you sing me a song about a new day?
I feel like a seedling breaking soil
Thin needles of light inviting
I wonder if I’m rooted enough
They say there is always discomfort in growing
I send love to my doubts
Mycelium music
Holding, connecting
The birds are angels,
Encouraging
Forest spirits,
Beckoning
Old skins falling
Will you sing me a song about a new day?
I cleared space
I am rich, I am ready
I lean into life
For this
Fresh start
–Frances Denise
⚘
SUCCESS
going back to the garden will be hard work. but the life i
painstakingly prepared for from prep school through
grad school – to put it simply – does not exist. formerly
academically gifted means i was promised a life of success,
but only if i could keep up with the pace of achievement
set by the best. i guess
some part of me always knew
i wouldn’t be able to.
so i spent my youth
fearing the inevitable. dreading the day i’d no longer
maintain an exalted position within the institution
and my worth would wither: an evaporating river.
for the longest time i blamed myself but i am learning
to be gentler. to offer a little love where the world left
little more than self-loathing. to extend compassion
where i used to berate and bruise my own heart.
all i ever wanted was to do well. to be good. to uphold
the honor i was told by those who took tuition
provided the foundation of the system. (come to find
this is at best bad faith and at worst a bold-faced lie)
and i’ve run out of ways to disguise
myself as fit to play this greedy game –
so i’m going back to the garden
where i’ll revel in the soil
and the sunshine and the rain,
throw the grief atop the compost heap
and hope
there’s more of me to claim.
–Cheyanne Leonardo
⚘
WILDFLOWERS ARE MY GRANDMOTHERS
I was thinking about how
The flowers, they’ve never been angry
They’ve been firm
And stern
With me
Only to reflect to me how I’ve been unnecessarily harsh with myself
But no, they’ve never been mad.
Mostly they’ve been joyful sparks and fire.
They are my grandmothers –
The wildflowers
Wise
Even in the cycles of their youth
How I love to watch them open to the sun
Diving into life without abandon
Eager to give and receive
In equal measure
The perfect balance
They teach me so much
There is too much to sing
Too much life to bring
For a bloom so temporary
–Frances Denise
⚘
NATURE’S SYMPHONY
In nature's arms, where whispers sing,
The world awakes to dawn's soft ring.
With every leaf and petal bright,
The earth unfolds its pure delight.
Mountains stand with timeless grace,
Rivers carve their ancient trace.
The sky, a canvas vast and blue,
Where clouds drift by in every hue.
In forests deep and oceans wide,
Life's wonders and secrets hide.
Nature's beauty, wild and free,
A boundless symphony for all to see.
–Olivia Gilreath
With endless love & gratitude,
