As in the womb.
New seed planted.
The farmer departs to dream.

haiku by Kurt Hearth
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Fishermen

From a still sea
the sun rises.
Farmers return
with their harvest.

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Cries heard tears flowed
feelings joyous anguish.
The cycle perpetuated.

haiku by Kurt Hearth
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From brilliant white clouds
a rainbow touched somewhere.
Trumpets proclaimed new life.

haiku by Kurt Hearth
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Wanderlust

What wonders,
hidden beyond far horizon,
summon forth the wanderlust
resting dormant within my soul?

Is there any power,
strong enough to overcome?
That magnetism drawing me,
to the ever retreating horizon.

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Boulevard

The boulevard of life we travel,
is fraught with intersections, countless.
Many we pass by, hesitating not.
Some call out, beckon for attention.
To these we pause, detour and explore.
From such quests our lives enriched,
we prosper, far beyond compare.
04Mar08

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Beauty

It has been said.
Beauty lies
in the eyes
of the beholder.

Might one ask.
Does beauty
in or of itself
recognize any bounds?

To voice an opinion
as to knowledge of beauty.
Must the beholder
be acclaimed expert?

In all truth.
Might an expression
of beauty be but
an affair of one's heart?

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Perpetuity

After the searing flames have gone.
When the choking black smoke has blown away.
I walked where once green forests stood.
Only ash and charred ruin remain.

The feeling of despair I could not hide.
Then at my foot midst grey dust appeared.
The brightest sliver of green grass.
And I knew all was not lost.

Perpetuity reigned.

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Blade O' Grass

Poking out through melting snow
from thawing frozen earth.
Timidly a new life peeks
in the newness of spring.

As temperate vernal days drift by.
It drinks the rays of summer sun.
Growing tall standing strong
still velvet soft to shoeless toe.

Yet if rendered asunder
such fragrance it yields.
So subtlety sweet its gift.
Mother Nature's humble.

Blade o' grass.

poem by Kurt Hearth
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Ambrosia

Looking out across
green valleys kissed.
By the God's
ambrosia mist.

So often I wonder.
Could that potion's magic?
Dissolve the evil
that turns good fortune tragic.

Then I sigh and question.
Why my concern?
Of events I cannot alter
and sadly to reality return.

Yet I must have been splashed
by that potion's spray.
For to concede I refuse.
Some good I shall do every day.

poem by Kurt Hearth
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