NH Writers
April, with its wild mix of sunshine, showers, and surprises, is both National Poetry Month and a time when nature keeps us on our toes. To honor the season, our group took on the challenge of writing a poem or a letter to Mother Nature.
Stepping in Puddles
I step in puddles all the time.
Some are yours; most are mine.
The trick, it seems, is drying off
Using time on Earth for cloth.
I haven’t done it in a while.
Which, you’d think, would make me smile.
Recovery just does not come easy…
Leads to dizzy thoughts and queasy
Memories of years well spent:
Living, laughing, life content.
But now the puddles are a sign
That life, like this, fits in a rhyme.
— Alice Wolf
Darkness
Where is the dark on this moonless night?
Thwarted by the neighbors’ lamp post light.
Porch light, perimeter and landscape beacon
Doth forever the darkness weaken.
Where is the quiet on my wooded walk?
Would birds complain if they could talk
Of the constant thrum of truck and car?
How deep in the woods must I walk; how far?
We check the locks, switch off the lights
But never again will there be dark nights.
From the bedside clock, aglow in blue
To the stove’s timer a different hue.
Where is there quiet in our busy days?
Our phones, our technology, let me count the ways
That our lives are disrupted by buzz and beep
It’s a wonder we can ever sleep.
Where is the darkness, where is it still?
Not in blinders, and not in pills.
Nature can nurture, can soothe and heal
Seek it, find it, it’s nature, it’s real.
— Bonnie Carnivale
April 4, 2025
Dear Mother Nature,
As I sit here watching the robins dance across my backyard and listen to the chickadees chirping their cheerful greetings, I realize that I am, in fact, ready for spring. Summer? No. But Spring? Oh yes.
The buds on the trees are anxiously peeking out, not daring to completely show themselves quite yet though. Because, of course, as soon as they do, you will, no doubt, hit us again with more snow. Or some such messy spring weather. Because, after all, that’s what you do.
If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes, it’ll change. If you don’t like the weather, drive five miles, it’ll change. And be prepared to experience all four seasons in the space of twenty-four hours. You are never dull or boring, that’s for sure!
Especially if you live in New England. It’s worth seeing the look on the faces of those visiting from warmer climates when they realize we’re not kidding!
While I’m ready for spring, I will be sad to see the last of the snow. Yes, I’m taking my life into my hands saying that, but it’s okay. No one knows where I live, so I’m safe.
I live where I do because I do love the snow, and yes, the cold that comes with it. Nothing calms me like a brilliant snowfall. I can sit and gaze for hours as the falling snow transforms the landscape from brown and dreary to dazzling white and glistening. Listening to the sound of snow falling…..there are no words to describe the sound. But plenty to describe how it makes me feel. Watching the trees bow in acceptance as they’re draped with snow, while the road disappears under a coating of white.
Peaceful. Calm. Isolated. Invigorating. Perfect.
The magic that you create is nothing short of breathtaking and utterly amazing. While I look forward to the brilliant greens that I know will get here eventually, I admit, one more snowfall wouldn’t hurt my feelings.
Respectfully yours, A Freak of Nature
Erasing Joy
Spells cast like coveted roles
Flash of smoke, we paid the tolls
So the stolen script goes
Questions, accusations thrown
We turned a blind eye but we should have known
You sat high in your broken throne
Grooming, delighting, praising
Those that trusted you, believed you
The chosen few
They hung on your wall like trophies
Like precious gems from flowing seas
Hidden away in unkept boundaries
Wearing your tie dye shield
As a pride generated minefield
No amount of therapy can heal
With clumsy aim, you crushed the one light
And acted as though it still shone bright
Leaving it all, out of mind, out of sight
You may never do time for your corruption
While every path is left in total destruction
Once found, it would all fall in abruption
Your drug was the apps you played like toys
You used everyone, including “your boys”
All you’ll ever be is erasing joy
— Sarah Dingman
The Acrostic End
Calm waters no more to trend,
Lives are lost—both kin and friend.
Is this how it all must end?
Man-made creation—
A blind eye fixation,
Tumbling fast toward devastation.
Earthquakes rumble, split the land,
Cyclones spin with brutal hand,
Heatwaves scorch the weakened strand,
And wildfires rage, no longer planned.
No one ever sees.
Gone forever the hush of ancient trees.
Ending all things like a parasitic disease.
— K.C. Sanford
Just Who am I?
I am a potholder.
Just sitting there on the shelf under-appreciated
But try to take your lasagna out of a 350 degree oven without me and woohee…disaster.
Truth is, like the potholder, I am an important cog in our kitchen and home.
I am an aluminum, four-legged walker with wheels.
Lean on me. Go ahead, I won’t say “No!”. I’m glad to help.
But betray me with actions or words or hurt my family and I’ll drop you like a sack of stones.
Truth is, I love my family with a Mama Bear devotion.
I am a rototiller.
Empowered to till the soil. I’ll convert what's dead and brown to green leaves and shoots.
But when Bambi and friends decapitate a row with their early morning grazing
I flail outstretched arms all about and shout words I’ll not repeat here.
Truth is, edible gems I raise on my own are some of my most valuable treasures.
I am a “creative” and I care too much.
I wish sometimes I could reign it in and roll with the flow.
But that is not me.
Truth is, I’m a work in progress and will be until the end.
— Melissa
Fat Girl
A fat baby girl
So smiley and cute
In her warm fuzzy blanket and little pink suit.
A fat first-grade girl,
So embarrassed and shy
Got teased on the playground but just wouldn’t cry.
A fat teenage girl
So misunderstood
Trying to blend in wherever she could.
A fat business woman
So devoid of emotion
“You aren’t quite what we wanted to fill this promotion.”
A fat silver-haired lady
So much in despair
Wanted someone to love her but no one was there.
A fat life is over
So peaceful she lies
Now she feels nothing for the fat she despised.
— A NH Writer