Category: Poetry

Aerial Wonder: Capturing the Essence of Flight

Engines roar as planes await departure, soaring into vibrant sunsets. The sky transforms with colors, revealing a reflective world as night gradually takes over.

MichaelStephenWills23 Comments


Bright was the sky as the engines awoke with a rumble of thunder,
Rolling the tarmac in echoes of journeys yet destined for wonder.
Cloudbanks assembled in towering billows of silver and shadow,
Lifting their faces to heaven, where sunlight had painted them golden.

Far on the edge of the runway, the steel-winged vessels lay waiting,
Southwest and Delta, their banners aloft in the warm evening fading.
Emerald-liveried Aer Lingus, a voyager bound to the island,
Glided in grace on the threshold of travel through luminous currents.

Wheels left the earth with a whisper, a moment of weightless suspension,
Gravity yielding to flight as the city unrolled far beneath us.
Golden horizons drew rivers of fire through infinite heavens,
Burning the clouds into embers that drifted in luminous torrents.

Upward we soared, where the world lay in pools of cerulean mirror,
Lakes interwoven like jewels, reflections of sunfire descending.
Billows of vapor, like castles of foam on the rim of creation,
Tumbled and rolled into canyons of mist in the twilight’s dominion.

Flame on the wings, where the heavens ignited in hues of vermilion,
Rays from the sun, like a god’s final whisper, embracing the skyline.
Shadows arose in their silence, dissolving the last glow of daytime,
Stars in their vigil awakened as night claimed the realm of the heavens.

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Eternal Beauty: Landscapes that Bind Time

MichaelStephenWills16 Comments

Beneath the burdened boughs, where birches bend,
And rivers rush through rocks that time has torn,
The shadowed cliffs, their crowns with pine trees pinned,
Stand sentinel, proud guardians of the morn.

Through chasms carved by countless, ceaseless years,
The water whispers tales of days gone by;
Its misty breath, a shroud for winter’s tears,
A silver veil beneath the leaden sky.

Each trickling stream sings sonnets to the stone,
And echoes dance through chambers cold and vast;
Where silence dwells, a realm of moss and bone,
As sunlight lingers, fleeting, yet steadfast.

The waterfall, a weeping wall of light,
Cascades its crystal chords with thund’rous grace;
An argent arc, a marvel for the sight,
That draws all souls into its soft embrace.

The river curls, through curving cliffs confined,
Its molten silver sculpts the winter’s skin;
While gnarled roots from ancient oaks entwined
Grip granite walls where life dares to begin.

Upon the path, where earth and echoes meet,
The fragile frost dissolves with fleeting flame;
Beneath bare limbs, our footsteps firm and sweet,
Trace tales that timeless, towering stones proclaim.

The afternoon, aglow with golden hue,
Finds stillness stitched in shadows soft and deep;
For here, in late-day’s light and lucid view,
The earth exhales her secrets slow to sleep.

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Hoverflies: Nature’s Mimicry Experts

Hoverflies, harmless pollinators often mistaken for bees, possess distinctive features and mimicry patterns that aid in their survival.

MichaelStephenWills11 Comments

A hoverfly buzzing with cheer,
Lands softly, no sting to fear.
With wings all a-glitter,
It’s no wasp, just a critter,
Whose mimicry tricks year to year.

The photo shows the hoverfly on a smooth surface, possibly resting or feeding. Hoverflies are abundant in the fall as they are drawn to late-blooming flowers for nectar and pollen.

A hoverfly stopped for a snack,
On a table, just taking a crack.
It posed for a shot,
Not moving a lot,
Then flew off to plan its next act.

A hoverfly thought it was sly,
As it zipped ‘round, too quick for the eye.
“Are you a bee?” folks said,
With confusion widespread,
“Just a poser!” it said with a sigh.

Some useful facts about this relatively harmless visitor

This insect is a Hoverfly (family Syrphidae). Hoverflies are often mistaken for bees or wasps due to their yellow and black striped body, but they are harmless and lack the ability to sting. They are beneficial pollinators and are common in gardens, meadows, and near flowers.

Some key identifying features include:

Large compound eyes that meet at the top of the head in males.


Two clear wings (unlike bees/wasps, which have four wings).


A short, stubby antennae.


Mimicry coloration (yellow and black stripes) that helps them avoid predators.


Ode to a Snapping Turtle

In homage to Pable Neruda and chance encounters

MichaelStephenWills15 Comments

O ancient wanderer
of Sapsucker Woods,
armor-clad and quiet,
you lumber forth,
carved from the earth itself,
sculpted from mud
and pondweed dreams.

October’s afternoon light
paints you with golden shadows,
each leaf fallen,
each branch broken
a whispered testament
to the slowness
of your path,
steady as a heartbeat
unmoved by haste.

You bear the centuries
in the lines of your shell,
grooves and valleys
where stories settle,
tales of reeds and minnows,
and the deep-rooted knowing
that life is best met
with patience, with pause.

O creature of edges and silence,
you bridge water and wood,
the line between stillness and stride.
What weight you carry,
not of burden, but of presence—
a shell that holds
the weight of stars,
the bones of ancient rivers,
and the soft clay of Sapsucker’s floor.

In your slow, silent passing,
the trail bows to you.
Leaves make way,
and the earth beneath you
settles a little deeper,
reminded of the strength
that moves without noise,
the wisdom that crawls
in the path of shadows.

Turtle,
you who wear the world’s patience,
I watch you disappear,
an ambassador of ponds and pools,
a silent architect
of marsh and moss.
May your journey be long,
your pauses endless,
and your shell a testament
to the beauty of age,
carved by time,
blessed by the sun.

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From Ground to Sky: A Reflective Climb

Experiencing joy and memory.

MichaelStephenWills9 Comments

Here, on the playground,
the morning stretches wide—
a sky so blue it swallows you whole.
And you, a small figure, climbing
the red pillar, moving hand over hand
up the ropes that knot and twist
like veins, like lifelines.

I watch from below,
the ground a familiar place
where footsteps fall and scatter—
but you, you are ascending,
breath held in the still air.
Nothing is simple in this moment,
yet everything is—

the cord that bends beneath you,
the thrill in your chest,
the boots pressed firm against braided paths.

If I could speak, if words were clear as the day,
I’d tell you how these small victories—
climbing high, standing above—
are etched into the bones of memory.
Someday, you’ll look back and wonder
at the web of ropes,
the pillar red against autumn’s burn,
and the vastness that carried you up,
into light, into air,

where fear gave way to joy,
and the sky leaned close,
just to watch you rise.

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Ode to a January Sunrise at Cocoa Beach

Awake to the radiant grace of dawn, where golden light adorns the sky and the ocean reflects its splendor. Witness the serene dance of nature in a peaceful, inspiring January sunrise at Cocoa Beach.

MichaelStephenWills6 Comments

Awake, my soul, to morning’s radiant grace, as dawn’s first light adorns the sky’s embrace. Behold the scene where heaven meets the sea, a tapestry of hues, divinely free.

The eastern sky ignites with golden fire, each ray a herald of the sun’s desire. In softest pinks and boldest crimsons cast, the night retreats, and day arrives at last.

The ocean, kissed by dawn’s ethereal light, reflects the splendor of the coming sight. Waves gently lap upon the sandy shore; their whispered secrets speak of days of yore.

The palm trees sway in rhythmic, gentle dance, their silhouettes in morning’s light enhance. A peaceful stillness wraps the world in awe, as nature’s beauty strikes the heart with awe.

The scattered clouds, with edges tinged in gold, Frame the horizon as the day unfolds. They drift like dreams upon the waking breeze, in harmony with rustling leaves of trees.

And as the sun ascends its royal throne, Its warmth and light through every vein is known. A new day born, with promise in its wake, invites the heart to rise and dreams to take.

Imagine, seagulls soar on wings of pure delight, their cries a chorus to the morning’s light. They glide and dive with effortless grace, their freedom echoes in this sacred space.

On distant sands, the footprints of the few mark early risers greeting morning’s hue. Their presence, fleeting, soon to be erased, by tides that sweep the shore in gentle haste.

Oh, glorious dawn, thy beauty so profound, Inspire the soul where peace and love abound. Let hearts be lifted by thy gentle hand, to cherish all that’s wondrous in this land.

For in this moment, all the world is still, the chaos of the night’s dark dreams to kill. A symphony of light and life begins, as morning’s joy through every fiber sings.

So let us honor this celestial show, where sky and sea in radiant colors glow. In silent reverence, we stand and gaze, at dawn’s first light, and marvel at its blaze.

Awake, my soul, and bask in morning’s gleam, embrace the beauty of this waking dream. For in the sunrise, hope and peace reside, a timeless gift the heavens do provide.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Nature’s First Green….

…is gold, / her hardest hue to hold, / her early leaf’s a flower; / but only so an hour… Robert Frost

MichaelStephenWills4 Comments

You walk alone by the waters of Cayuga Lake in Stewart Park, nestled in the heart of Ithaca’s Finger Lakes, where Salix alba, the white willow, stands proudly along the shoreline. You’re immediately drawn to the flurry of yellow flowers, a stark contrast to the still chilly early March air.

The white willow (Salix alba), with its rough, gray bark, is beginning to dress in its spring finery, its branches teeming with tiny, starburst-like flowers. Each one is a miniature sun, casting a glow against the intricate lattice of branches. These aren’t the soft catkins of the pussy willow but the yellow inflorescences that are characteristic of the white willow’s early bloom, a signpost that winter’s grip is loosening.

These trees, you learn, are dioecious, with separate male and female trees. The blossoms you see are likely the male flowers, their stamens dusting your fingers with pollen as you brush against them. It’s this pollen that will soon beckon the bees, urging them to emerge from their hives and begin the work that sustains the ecosystem. You can almost hear the faint buzz, a prelude to the symphony of life that summer will bring. Return in midsummer to find the female catkins comprise numerous small (4 mm) capsules, each containing numerous minute seeds embedded in silky white hairs, which aids wind dispersal.

As you wander further, you note the presence of the white willow’s kin, other deciduous companions some still bare and stretching into the sky and others leafing out. You stand there, at the cusp of seasonal change, where the slumbering trees are on the verge of awakening, and you feel a kinship with them. Like these trees, you have weathered the cold, dark months, and now you stand poised to greet the renewal that comes with spring.

The stark, knotted forms of the white willow branches against the clear sky speak to you of endurance and resilience. These trees have weathered storms and droughts; they have been companions to the lake, mirrors to its moods, and now they are beginning to celebrate the cycle of rebirth and growth.

You take a seat on a bench, the cool wood through your clothes a reminder of the lingering winter. You gaze out across the lake, the water reflecting the brilliance of the sun like a vast, rippling mirror, framed by the elegant silhouettes of the white willows. You feel the peace of the park seep into you, the slow, rhythmic lapping of the water syncing with your breath.

This is a moment of transition, from the sleeping to the awakening world. You think about the Salix alba, how its presence here is a testament to nature’s adaptability, thriving in the moist soil by the lake, offering shade in summer and shelter in winter, its branches a playground for the winds.

As you leave Stewart Park, you take with you the memory of the white willows in early March, the quiet guardians of Cayuga Lake. They remind you of the enduring beauty of nature, the seamless flow from one season to the next, and the quiet joy of standing witness to the first whispers of spring on the shores of the Finger Lakes.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Wind Whispers

In the crisp solitude of Cocoa Beach at dawn, witness a world untouched: golden light dances on waves, the chill air whispers, and a singular peace reigns over the empty shore.

MichaelStephenWills10 Comments

Upon Cocoa’s shore at dawn’s first light,
Where waves dance and shimmer with cold delight,
A lone watcher, I stand in solitude’s embrace,
Feeling the north wind’s brisk and biting trace.

The sand, a canvas of untouched grains,
Bears witness to the sun’s golden reins,
As it climbs, a fiery charioteer,
Breaking the grip of night’s lingering fear.

Windy February Sunrise

The sea froths in a wild, wind-driven churn,
As the day ignites and the horizons burn.
Forty degrees, a chill to the bone,
Yet in this brisk morn, I find myself alone.

No footprints mar the beach’s pristine face,
Save mine, etched briefly in time’s fleeting grace.
The gulls have fled the gusts’ relentless push,
Leaving the skies to the clouds’ rosy blush.

In this brisk February gale,
I watch the sun’s rays like warriors pale,
Brandishing light against the cold, dark sea,
A spectacle of warmth, just for me.

The beach, expansive, a desolate stage,
A world apart from the human age.
The waves, the wind, the chill, the light,
Compose a symphony of nature’s might.

I breathe in deep the saline air,
Each gust a verse in the morning’s prayer.
The sea’s rhythm against the shore,
A melody I’ve come to adore.

Here in this chill, this wind, this hue,
I find a peace profound and true.
Cocoa Beach at sunrise, a sight to behold,
A memory in my heart, forever enfolded.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Rose Gold

MichaelStephenWills23 Comments


Threaded with bird call

Folded sails greet the first light

A new year takes flight

The first sunrise of 2024 from Cocoa Beach, Brevard County, Florida.

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved

Whispers in the Mist: A Space Coast Dawn

Embark on a serene journey through a fog-enshrouded Cocoa Beach at dawn. Feel the mystique of Florida’s Space Coast in this introspective walk captured in poignant blank verse.

MichaelStephenWills12 Comments

 

Upon Cocoa Beach, in morning’s gentle embrace,
The world lies shrouded in a silken fog’s lace.
Soft sands whisper ‘neath my solitary feet,
As dawn’s quietude and ocean’s breath meet.

The sky, a canvas of muted grey,
A prelude to the coming of day.
The air, cool and moist upon my skin,
A tender caress, a whispering kin.

The steeple rises, a ghostly spire,
Amidst the mist, it stands, silent and dire.
Palm trees sway with a rhythmic grace,
In this hazy realm, time slows its pace.

 

A hammock hangs, still and forlorn,
Awaiting the laughter of a day reborn.
Houses peek, their outlines blurred,
In this soft world, all is unstirred.

The sea’s soft roar, a distant sound,
A symphony in the fog, profound.
I walk, and my thoughts begin to roam,
In this misty morning, I find a home.

The light grows, a gradual birth,
As the sun climbs to illuminate the earth.
The fog begins to lift, to rise,
Revealing the awakening of the skies.

 

Yet, in this moment, I am alone,
A soul adrift in a world of its own.
Here, where space and time coast,
I am but a specter, a fleeting ghost.

 

Copyright 2024 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved