My second Monday poem was to describe a place in terms of its flora, fauna, and other natural (and semi-natural in this case) phenomena. I was to sink into the sound of the location using poetic conversational tone. I was also invited to include near or slant rhymes in the poem. Confession: I enjoyed writing this.

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There are Drums

Two bits and a dime east of the Sound water
that holds the Emerald Rain City at bay,
up towards twin peaks country,
three nickels past the Snoqualmie sign,
playing in the Issaquah Alps,
at the western shades of the Cascades,
rain drums play taps, slaps, and raps all day long.

Before the rains play their beats upon
the Douglas fir and bigleaf maple,
when western hemlock and coral root catch
drops before simple ferns silently call
some sagebrush, deer, elk, coyotes,
and wildcats toward the music,
Rattlesnake Ridge plays a glacier crescendo.

The verdant green on green on green screams its song,
as the drums beat the trails along,
and we love the sound as the lower down
trailhead city
plays us a ditty
in a rain drum courtyard,
haunting and inviting
us in time to make the climb
to the height
up nature carved rock to an overlook, above the lake.

It’s almost too much as a pleasing sound
brings us to a threshold of happy sensory overload.
Smiling at the ironic name since there are no rattlesnakes,
we do more than hear the music and see the rain.
We feel the wet, the wind, and cool breeze;
we smell the fresh everything, even dirt,
in the air we taste the kiss of nature.
We vow to return to the music
and to save the wonders for our children.

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Look all the ways with awakened senses
of more than five as you find a love of nature that is new to you.
Mind the gaps especially if you venture to the top and do the overlook, too.

This place: