Gifts of Nature by Joan Leotta
photos by Joanne Olivieri taken at Ocean Beach, San Francisco Botanical Garden and Metson Lake in San Francisco, CA.
Awarded Honorable Mention in the Dorothy Olivieri Memorial Award Poetry Chapbook Contest 2019.
Gifts of Nature
Twenty Poems by Joan Leotta
Camellias in Winter
Outside our sunroom window,
among ever green
camellia leaves
fuchsia rose-like blooms
popped out yesterday—
even in winter’s cold,
beauty warms the heart.
Heron, the Hunter
Hunched
among tall grasses
bunched in a watery
roadside trench,
Heron,
ghost gray feathers,
smoothed,
blends into
morning mist as
he hunts, hoping
for breakfast
before sun
breaks through,
revealing him to
his croaking prey.
Sunrise on the Beach
It seems a simple thing to see a sunrise at the beach,
walking along sand when sky kisses shoreline at the beach.
Waking from a warm soft bed to go outside
I carry coffee in a paper cup; stumble onto the beach.
In that dark moment sun is just inching above horizon,
Ears call me to the sounds of slow small waves, at the beach
Low tide waves. A calm warm day. Sky agrees.
Sun emerges from the water; tosses shafts of light onto the beach
Glitter and glare fill sky, then, purple, pink, blue. Such sights seen,
walking along sand when sky kisses shoreline at the beach.
Winter Light
Sunrise is a daily struggle
to crack open a frozen horizon
and cling to sky long
enough to provide some
semblance of a day,
short though it will be.
While the Other Flowers
Wait for Spring…
Crocus,
clever little crocus
pokes her head though
hard ground, snow, ice
challenges the darkness,
captures what warmth
weakened morning
sun can spare—
blooms.
Cardinal Crossing
Yesterday I saw him.
swoop
out from a group of bushes
fly
across my path to
feast
on buds and bugs
winging
about in spring breeze.
Was he a sign
from heaven that my son is
watching me?
Or just a bird?
After all, I’ve never
known my son to
ingest insects.
Why would he start
now?
.
Red Hawk
He guards my field
perched on electrical lines.
He is poised
to unleash those
wings to swoop
on a mouse or mole
threatening my corn.
No car behind,
As I drive, I slow,
pause to watch him.
A moment later he
swings down across
the field, disappearing between
corn rows, then swiftly rising.
Wings spread, but still,
he glides across the sky
close by my windshield
displaying his prey
for my approval.
Late Bloom
Neighbor’s houses
are framed in blooms
exuberant, colorful, abundant,
by end of March.
April starts with
Sighs of exasperation
But by Shakespeare's Birthday
Just when
I'm resigned to buying
store-bought blooms
for the table.
As I arrange them,
I glance out the window—
Iris purple and white
wave at me from
a backyard flower bed.
My blooms are
late, but oh so splendid.
Cardinal Crossing
Yesterday I saw him.
swoop
out from a group of bushes
fly
across my path to
feast
on buds and bugs
winging
about in spring breeze.
Was he a sign
from heaven that my son is
watching me?
Or just a bird?
After all, I’ve never
known my son to
ingest insects.
Why would he start
now?
.
Carolina Jessamine
Last week
I spotted some vines slithering up
the faded red siding of an abandoned shack.
They wound and curled about the
frame of a broken window,
reaching around stiff rectangular frames,
softening sharp angles into elegant curves.
In one corner,
a yellow bloom burst forth
filling each of the window's broken spaces
with trumpet blossoms.
Not satisfied with the sight,
I stopped my Honda, and
walked closer
to breathe in the trumpets' aroma.
Redolent of spring,
those bright yellow flowers,
illuminated the dark recesses of my soul
so I could open up to you.
Strawberries
Cherokee love fruit.
Strewn on the path
of an angry maiden
She stopped her flight to
Gather them, anger melting
with each sweet bite.
I think about this as I slice
these heart shaped treats
into bowls for my dearest.
We argued this morning.
Jay Feather Day
My fingers pluck
a drifting blue jay
feather from the breeze
before wind
can whip it away.
Remnant of a
proud bird's battle?
Molt? No matter.
My sky-blue
jay feather
is tickling
my very soul
so that I will
laugh all day long.
Lilies of the Valley
Lilies of the Valley—
small white bells
whose fragrance ascends
to God with puff and huff
of spring's new breath.
whose fragrance ascends
to God with puff and huff
of spring's new breath.
They grew abundantly in
Grandma's rock garden
among her hosta
on the shady side of her porch.
That very first spring day
among her hosta
on the shady side of her porch.
That very first spring day
when grandma brought
her glider out of winter storage
I would stand on the cushions,
climb over the iron
railing , carefully
lower myself and crouch among
those tiny nodding bells to
fill my lungs and soul with their
aroma of hope.
her glider out of winter storage
I would stand on the cushions,
climb over the iron
railing , carefully
lower myself and crouch among
those tiny nodding bells to
fill my lungs and soul with their
aroma of hope.
Moon Flower
My friend pointed out the perfect place
for it to flourish, for me to watch.
Nightly, I "surveiled" it.
waiting for moon's rays
to bring it to blossom.
At last a bud.
I pulled a chair
to our glass door
Full moon rose up over our pond
setting a silver sheen on unfolding
leaves until a pale white
flower held sway amid dark foliage.
Next day it shriveled in sun's heat.
Now, I grow basil in that spot.
Roadside Poppies in Andalusia
Poppies cluster near the road
after cutting wide red swaths
through olive groves and pastures.
Blood- red, the poppies drape
fields and barrows
like matador capes,
marking, covering,
scarred places on the land
where blood once flowed.
Their beauty makes a
bright balm for those lost-
in-battle souls while
quietly crying out for
remembrance of those who
shouted, shot, and died here.
A Single Bloom
Petal fingers brush
mine lightly
as my hand travels
down to snap
bloom from stem.
Mother bluebird
living just above
this volunteer
rose of sharon
circles my head,
chides me
chirping, chirping
this bloom is her
guardian, shielding
her nest from
view. I surrender
to her claim.
White Peaches
White peaches—
solid-state champagne
under red velvet coverlets,
pale flesh of
tongue-tingling sweetness.
Summer's final celebration.
Gingko
Yellow gingko fans
flutter down to sidewalks—
Joy now marks my path
Page Break
Leaves
Autumn's
foliage
glows
with warm
colors
stolen from the sun.
Jacket zipped,
I walk
along the lake
whose smooth
surface
smiles
all of autumn's best
back at me.
Clouds and Fences
Barbed wire loops
along beside the
road, fencing me
off from you.
Sighing, my eye seeks out
a way. I'm drawn,
to thin strings of clouds
woven into nets,
waving in unison.
These Dream Catchers,
whisper as they
undulate across sky, "Grab us,
to ride safely
above those prickly wires."
I reach up and ride
above barbed realities,
to realize my dreams—
to be where there are
no fences between
you and me.
Joan Leotta has been playing with words on page and stage since childhood.
She writes in many genres but particularly loves poetry. Her poems have been or are forthcoming in Postcard Poems and Prose, Silver Birch, Fourth River,
Creative Inspirations, the Ekphrastic Review and others. When she is not admiring her garden, working on the computer, or performing folk tales on stage you can find her walking by the sea.
Joan Leotta
Author, Story Performer
“Encouraging words through Pen and Performance”
Giulia Goes to War, Letters from Korea, A Bowl of Rice, Secrets of the Heart.
Author, Story Performer
“Encouraging words through Pen and Performance”
Giulia Goes to War, Letters from Korea, A Bowl of Rice, Secrets of the Heart.
historical fiction in Legacy of Honor Series
Simply a Smile--collection of Short Stories
WHOOSH! Picture book from THEAQ
Simply a Smile--collection of Short Stories
WHOOSH! Picture book from THEAQ
You can download a mini-chapbook of my poems at
Find out more about my work at
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