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James Orvil Beady

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Mother Earth
by James Orvil Beady

Saturday, January 11, 2003

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Recent poems by James Orvil Beady
•  A Song Bird
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With fire in her belly her head in the clouds
Cloaked with robes of blue green waters
Where is she from Who placed her here
And how was her path determined

She is mother to all
Host to the living mourner of the departed
She drinks the blood of the fallen
And stores the dead in her belly

Here from the beginning
Her age and history remain her closely guarded secret
Her sunrises cannot be counted
Her twilights are without number

Her hosts are countless yet she provides for them all
Who is her counselor
Who is her mentor and guardian
Who is her provider

She rejoices in happiness yet is witness to all evils
Can anyone understand her workings
Or predict her future
Is she immortal

Her virtues are patience and tolerance
Her fury unmatched and unequaled
In anger she knows no compassion
Her beauty is boundless

Her mountains crowned with frost
Her glamour the sparkling oceans
The stars her halo the clouds her veil
And the green meadows are the pastures for her children

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Reviewed by justin 1/13/2003
I can see the picture that this poem is describing.
Reviewed by justin 1/11/2003
Wonderful, beautiful image. Very strong indeed. I enjoyed this read, thank you, James.

Be well,
Michael Ladanyi
Reviewed by Vicky Bowker Jeter 1/11/2003
Hi James
Beautiful paradoxical portrait of
Mother Earth -- "She drinks the blood of the fallen, and stores the dead in her belly."
In a sense, we never really leave her, do we.
Profound thoughts -- I'd never really seen it in this unusual light. Even in creamation our smoke is within her atomsphere. Blessings to you, Vicky
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