Tag: poems about the anthropecene

In This, The World

Two sparrows
on the center line
one insistent,
one in crisis.
I turn around
to offer assistance
knowing it is already too late.

This world is cruel and merciless.

One has left, one remains
staring at the sky;
I lift her with words
used for loved ones,
feel her spirit leave
as I lie her in the grass.

A million heartbreaks
in her final wingbeats,
a million tears
I don’t dare shed.

This world is cruel and merciless.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, life with ghosts, nature poems, Poem, Poems, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry, writing in 2025

Creativity Poetry

The Least I Could Do

What you do for the least of these…

God whispers from a corner

of the forest where I walk,

and there, beneath my feet

a convocation of earthworms

crossing the path,

etching their prayers in dirt

…you did for me

so I lift them gently

one at a time

to the safe green haven

trailside

thinking…

how simple this task

how easy to take care

of those under foot

how bending down

to lift others up

is a sacred act,

a blessing

in this wicked, wicked world.

Tags Anthropocene, Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, life with ghosts, nature poems, Poem, Poems, poems about the anthropecene, poems in 2025, Poetry, Sleeping with Ghosts, writing in 2025

Creativity Poetry

15-My walk becomes an apology

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date April 17, 2025
1 Comment on 15-My walk becomes an apology

I’m sorry

to the squirrel
and its dying beech

to the frog eggs
in the pool
in the woods
in this world

to the moss
upon which I walk

to the osprey
for my disturbance

I’m sorry
I’m sorry
I’m sorry

the words come unbidden

all around the pond

this is just the way it is now

Poem ©2025 Jen Payne. NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags #NaPoWriMo, Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, Poem, Poems, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry, Writing

Creativity Poetry

5-When the Harvesters Come

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date April 5, 2025
No Comments on 5-When the Harvesters Come

All along the highway
a brutal massacre
agony and destruction
jagged edges claw the sky
not even the grace of a clean cut
no time to spare
for the scream of chain saws
the equal labor-to-labor
dignity of tree felling
the man-versus-nature
earth shaking victory
(the silent apologies)
we are now
machine-efficient
cost-effective
and ruthless
with stands of trees laid bare
twisted to their breaking point
ripped and torn
delimbed, stripped, shredded
sun burning shaded places
raw spaces for the taking

©2025, Jen Payne. NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags #NaPoWriMo, Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, Poem, Poems, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry, Writing

Creativity

Old Great Blue

From the bough under which the catbird mourns
I gathered a bushel of wild grapes
so that together — your Memory and I — could make sweet wine
to share with the family of swans who remember

outstretched wings, your solo flights across the pond

the kingfisher who cheered
green heron
and osprey
and chickadee
the turtles and frogs and snakes
and songsters all

remember you, old friend

We’ll drink our wine by your weathered white bones
narrate again your prehistoric startle from this cove
the seemingly impossible lift and soar
your meditative poses and postures

And I?
I will tell them of the winter we walked step-for-step by the back pond
how the world was silent and we listened to snowfall
the sharp haunted joy of us and no others

that moment last spring — the shock of morning wing song
watching as you landed on a branch crown-high, balancing on its sway
how every time I looked up,
you were still there
and still there
and still there

until you were no longer

I have pages now of poems for you
stories to tell to the gathering
and one last prayer
these fall flowers at your feet
beneath a birch that once was as well
with gratitude forever more

Amen

Photo & poem ©2024 Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, life with ghosts, nature poems, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Creativity

Oh Yeah!

It’s OK that you drank the Kool-Aid, love.

You needed something
to get you through these last long years,
and the booze just wasn’t cutting it,
we both knew that.

So god it is…

I just wish it was a gentler god,
not an angry one, or judgmental,
not one locked in a house built on dogma
reeking of sins and incense.

I don’t know…if it was me,
I’d want to get to know the god who made the woods
and all its weird and wild creatures,

the one who filled up the ocean and dropped in
whales and welks and narwals,

the one who paints rainbows across the sky
and doesn’t care who takes offense.

I’d want to find a god to suture old wounds
and tug at the threads of trauma
that keep some of us from a fully woven life…

Kool-Aid comes in all flavors, darling
but I prefer mine good and sweet, oh yeah!

Tags art, Books, Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, life with ghosts, nature poems, Photography, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry, Travel, Writing

Creativity

Fall Morning

The air smells of wild grapes and skunk
but I don’t dare walk to the curb
to see if the devil has taken another one,
my heart is already broken so much
the weight of its bits and pieces
is pain now living in my bones —
so I ignore all of that
and stand barefoot in the damp grass
soothe the catbird worrying
with a tick tick tick of tongue
I learned from my grandfather
who loved birds enough to sing to them
but not much else, I don’t think
except maybe whiskey
— and guns —
the devil comes in all forms, doesn’t he?
angry men and scared men,
men with a throttle between their legs
so blind with power they don’t slow down
to spare the skunk, her mouthful of sweet grapes,
the joyous morning that could have been.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, life with ghosts, nature poems, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Creativity

What of her, anyway?

They hardly slow down for me
solitary on the side of the road
walking before the heat rises,
so what of her, anyway?

There have been so many this year
one bunny, two bunny…
I count like my grandbaby advises
three bunny, four bunny…

Dead bunny.

Wonder if the driver slowed at all,
considered his violation,
said a prayer if not for her
then for the three babes
one bunny, two bunny…
asleep in the down
dreaming of their mum
and mornings in dewed grass.

But what of her anyway?
She, no matter,
just a long red stripe
over which I step this morning
— there but for the grace of god —
wary of the next car coming
light speed around the bend.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene

Creativity

they were once a family of four

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date August 4, 2024
No Comments on they were once a family of four

I see them on the side of the road
have to hold back tears or
suffer similar fate —
we are merciless these days
our endless race
to get from here to there
nevermind the casualties —
so I file them away with
Roadside Tragedies
too much to bear for any family

until they reappear in a dream
their sweet furred selves,
mom and her babes
masked and giggling
running circles on
a green shag carpet that
could be grass or forest
or pillowed green moss

a soft landing for heartache,
respite from the cruelties
of our hard, brutal world

©2024 Jen Payne. Photo from U.S. Fish and Wildlife. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

10 – Tribute

There was no time
for gratitude
or remembrance

how the bees
loved her in spring,
the blossoms
full of promise

how the Robins
sought refuge in her
abundant branches,
suffered storms
raised families

no time hold
the memory
of her sweet fruit,
consider
its ripeness
one last time

to thank her for
summer shade,
the filigree
of shadows,
the soft
unexpected breezes

nor even to
regard the lichen
and velvety moss
that gathered
in her neglect,
embraced her
unpruned limbs

One hopes
the axman
soothed her,
that the
Jays and Doves
were nearby
comfort

Poem ©2024, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags #NaPoWriMo, Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, National Poetry Month, National Poetry Writing Month, nature poems, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

Inroads

The deer path
has been excavated
from its intimate
trail of mossy secrets
to a course hewn
five feet wide
accommodating us, of course,
but not the slow poetry
of listening
here, where the
January thaws laid bare
a Caretaker’s House
like Brigadoon, brief
or here, where in the
sunrise silence
one could hear
the Lady Ferns
unfurl in fanfare
nor here, where
small Spring Beauties
gathered in gossip beneath
the wise old Oak
who bears witness now
only to the wreckage,
the red blaze nailed deep
without apology.

Photo & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift. .

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, nature poems, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

Trespass

Trespass

This is no place for a cricket
I said out loud
to him and to nobody,
then lifted him gently
into the confines of
an old coffee cup,
belly of a whale
for all he knows of
Columbia and Sumatra,
but they sing there
like he does,
and who’s to say
his are not folklore
themselves —
long-told stories
passed down
late at night,
to our ear
cacophony,
to theirs
a thousand tales
a million years
the universe
in the short patch of grass
now, there, and safe,
as safe as Jonah
I pray silently

forgive us our trespasses

as I walk back to my car
parked askew
in the crowded lot.

IMAGE by Hobiecat. Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Anthropocene, Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, nature poetry, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

The Bear Prince

Once upon a time
there was a bear
and he lived
just around the corner
from the footbridge
where the jays
still caw about a troll
and hummingbirds
wax poetic about
jewelweed
on the banks of
the stream.
It was there, one day,
a woman stood in
utter disbelief
as rain fell
on a sunny day
and the breeze
turned into music.
People around her raced by
fear in their breath
eyes full of warning,
but she, being a brave sort
(or merely hopeless)
walked up the path,
around the corner,
and asked the bear to dance.

IMAGE: Poor little bear!, John Bauer, 1912. Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about bears, poems about memory, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

I Keep Writing Epitaphs

Last night, I snuck
across the pond
to the half-cut trees,
their slaughtered limbs
strewn across the yard
of the large new house
and listened while
spiders and ants
and caterpillars
evacuated, slowly.
I knelt below the
one last Maple
in whose branches
I once spied
turkeys sleeping
and I apologized
in whispers
that sounded like
midnight bird wings,
while my tears
collected in pools
around her sweet trunk
and we listened
as the stars departed
and the sun rose
and the marsh hawk
came to pay its respects
one last time.

Image: Google map of the pond and trees. Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about memory, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

The Mimics of a Lifetime

The weight of a catbird
in its final sleep
too close to the road
is surprisingly heavy,
as if all of her songs —
the whistles and whines
the cheeps and chirps
the mimics of a lifetime —
are stored within
her feathers
so soft to the touch.
I pray my long gentle strokes,
my whispered comforts,
might wake her
to forage with her chicks
once more
and I stay hopeful
for fifty-one steps
until I lay her, quiet, still
in the cool soft moss
of the shaded yard,
where the stalwart maple
keeps eternal watch.

IMAGE: Gray Catbird (Dumetella carolinensis) at the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University, Boston, Massachusetts, United States.Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about birds, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

in what we have done

I used to hear god here

delight in her transformations,                                             I’m so sorry

day upon day

season into season,

now she is mostly quiet

nursing deep, fatal wounds

while I mostly grieve,

whisper apologies to the trees                              I’m sorry

toss offerings of acorns

into the beech grove,

a futile mea culpa                    I’m sorry

               I’m sorry

Photos & Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

Punctuated Equilibrium

I think to warn the
hummingbird
of the black snake
I met along the trail,
then remember:
snakes don’t fly,
and even the racer
would be too slow
anyway
for the flit flit flit
of this apparition
I can’t blink to see
a solo staring contest
until my eyes tear up

sure, sure — blame it on the bird

my eyes were teared already
on this quiet, dying Sunday,
summer seeping into fall
but more than that
the things we can’t ignore,
the changes that might
someday soon
require the snake to fly
for its supper after all

Punctuated Equilibrium is a theory of evolution that claims that change happens suddenly over short periods of time followed by long periods of no change. IMAGE: Tree of Life. Charles Darwin’s 1837 first diagram of an evolutionary tree sketch, from his First Notebook on Transmutation of Species (1837). Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about evolution, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Memoir National Poetry Month Nature Poetry Writing

May all beings…

There’s a spider
crawling on the Buddha
that sits on my desk,
and I wonder
if she —
the spider —
is praying,
wonder if I might
ask her
to do so
on my behalf
for the
butterfly
I have no heart
to remember,
its blacktop
last breaths
and wingbeats
were things
I could not bear
this morning
on my way
to the woods
that are
themselves
dying.
Good Lord,
if I stop
to kneel down
for each
and all of it,
there would be
no time left.

Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about nature, poems about praying, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry

Creativity

In the ruins of my cathedral

Post author By Jen Payne
Post date June 27, 2022
3 Comments on In the ruins of my cathedral

In the ruins of my cathedral
I can still hear the angels sing
they from their loft of branches
and I on bended knee
begging for absolution
that will not come

not from the pine at the pulpit
sheared off in the storm

not from the maple
whose leaves filtered light
more beautifully than glass

not from the elm or the ash
who lie beneath my feet
extinguished by our blaze
our red hot disregard

so keenly unconcerned
that we are of this and part of this
and crumbling at our very foundation

the beech knows
its grief spreads
like sickness now

leaf to leaf

branch to branch

tree to tree

in the ruins of my cathedral

Tags Connecticut Poet, Jen Payne, poems about nature, poems about the anthropecene, Poetry, Writing