On Poetry

I intend poems I write to be pictures of the thoughts of a moment. A small piece of something might come to me while I am working or in my daily activities and I turn it over and over in my mind, and it grows. I would consider this a sort of "cotton candy" method of forming a poem.
My poems often have little to do with the philosophies and beliefs I subscribe to. They are mostly unfiltered in that way. The idea of being "true to self" in the sense that most people see it means that they stay within the confines of their strongest beliefs, but it is a contradiction of honest expression.
The momentary thought that starts poems takes precedence over the idea of being "true to self". That is why my poems cover a wide range of subject matter; however, my thoughts often center on nature so you will see a return to nature often in my poems because one must return to nature in order to recharge and rest from the madness as Thoreau might put it.

On First of Spring

The time is up and nigh
To toss the heavy coats aside
And see a changing sky.
Let winter cold in me subside.

The shadows stretching long
Reach ever farther West and East.
The sun is shining strong
And howling winds have been deceased.

No more the frigid veil.
The frightful nights are growing short.
To greening in the dale,
The wild birds return, exhort.

Rejoicing doe with fawn
In birthing bower nursing lays.
The snow is going, gone.
The pasture's dry and fit to graze

Unto the grey that girds the sky,
I turn a searching, wandering eye.
The open road is gaping wide.
I toss my winter coat aside.

Premonition

I have seen the whirlwind
on the water
dancing like two snakes
rising from a charmer's basket,
and in their turning, twirling
saw visions of things to be:
what is taken
given
or left behind.
A certain solace
came over me then
in this newfound knowledge,
but within it a silent fear
of which I must not tell.

There is terrible violence in the calm,
ominous peace within the storm.