wild wonderful whales

Wind Wonderful Whales

 
Wild wonderful whales wandering 
the wet welcome waters of the Pacific
Enough of you we can’t seem to get
Each sighting a little fête.

What do you think when the little boats full of tourists 
speed toward you from all directions
as if there’s some emergency,
when all they want 
are a few moments communion 
with your majesty, 
to lay their eyes upon the body of the queen of the sea, 
to see you skin shimmering in the morning sun. 

Wild wonderful whales wandering 
the wet welcome waters of the Pacific
Enough of you we can’t seem to get
Each sighting a little fête.

Do you sense our delight
when you jump with all your might? 
Such an amazing sight! 
You are so grand, 
we can see you from land
up here on our balcony where we stand, 
drawn like magnets to your magnificence. 

Wild wonderful whales wandering 
the wet welcome waters of the Pacific
Enough of you we can’t seem to get
Each sighting a little fête.
It’s as if you can hear our oohi-ng and ahh-ing 
carrying from way up here 
a joyful song floating from afar. 
A spray to get our attention, 
a breach to show off your size,
bigger than the little tourist boats
gathered up along side you,
a great jump – and a splash
your big black back crashing
into the deep blue sea,
white water shooting like fireworks 
in a summer sky. 

Wild wonderful whales wandering 
the wet welcome waters of the Pacific
Enough of you we can’t seem to get
Each sighting a little fête.

Oops! I decided there was one more poem I want to share from my Gathering at the Sea collection, written in January 2021. This poem is about one of our big delights when whiling away the days in sunny San Agustinillo. Below, you can find other poems from my little collection previously posted here, along with a bonus photo:

on a torn wing

with wonder and delight

Exhilaration

The Ocean

little shell

a song of escape

Many of these poems, including wild wonderful whales, are part of an online collection I call Little Morsels of Delight.

The Moon Speaking

 The Moon Speaking
  
 I remember that night, when I was full-on 
 in my shiny best, I got a glimpse of you moving 
 along the sandy shore. You caught my attention 
 as you skipped from spot to spot on the wet sand 
 where the gentle waves caress the earth. You were chasing 
 sand crabs. Whether teeny-tiny or the bigger ones, those 
 armored beings always beat your lumbering foot, like a giant \
 overtaking them, back into their little bitty holes. You
 giggled at their speed and spoke to them in laughter. When you 
 tired of your rollicking pursuit, you paused on the sand and 
 gazed out over the water to the horizon. Your spine 
 straightened like a tree in the summer sun and your chest 
 curved ever so slightly toward the sky, like a baby opening
 her mouth, hungry to be nourished, completely trusting 
 her mother. As if just noticing it’s the light on in the room 
 that is keeping things from being dark, you look my way. 
 As you lean back with your arms wide in a heart-centered kiss 
 of communion, I sense your imagination unfolding like a flower.
 In the mirror of my being, you see your power, your beauty 
 and strength. You claim the truth: how you simply need to be,
 emanating your light, in phases, not always glowing in your
 full glory because sometimes you need to rest. 

Click HERE for an audio recording of the poem.

This poem is part of an online collection I call All the Shapes of Joy.

The hummingbird

The hummingbird
 
She aimed straight for
the yellow bottom of the
old birdhouse, repaired and refurbished
with its patched roof
and painted flowers on the sides
hanging on the black swirly hook
decorating the deck.
 
Pure grace, she was, as
she danced with her wings
inspecting the sweetness of
the little dwelling, with disappointment
she flitted off to the pink and red
and purple and blue of the ceramic butterflies
dangling from another little black hook.
 
And then she turned to me,
flustered and fluttering like a question,
yearning for the syrupy sweetness of
something real, something
made by Mother Nature’s hand.
 
Awed by her attention, and how
her focus and determination, like a tantrum,
spoke to me, I pointed
my gaze to the potted geraniums
and zinnias – red and pink and orange delights
stretching for the sun,
just below her frolicking.
 
Message apparently received, she
wiggled her way to the
tallest of the pink zinnias, and
after all that fuss, imagine
my disappointment when
she zipped off to the south,
and my sadness that
our communion had not been more.

This poem is part of an online collection I call Little Morsels of Delight.