The beetle of this poem is a creature of reality. I encountered it four years ago at Mahon Falls and knew then, it would become inspiration for a nature poem.  I had never seen a creature like it; satiny black, resoundingly present. I could almost hear it hum.

Standing at the crossroads between summer and autumn, it felt like a sign. As I was expecting my first daughter at the time, perhaps the beetle was a symbol of massive change to come and a reminder of the wonders nature can produce.

Beetle

Nature Poem

Your colours are an antique desk.

Main body – black hide,
honed for anguished pen-strokes,

Legs – frame of the desk,
slim as tapered quills,

You are an instrument to my writing.

I note you on my pocket page,
give you words, a voice that speaks
from behind your gravel irises.

I present you, so others can see your size,

the ebony-tawny gleam of
your mismatched elements.

The animation is all your own,
sweeping movements, grace of a bird,
land, forage, nest.

K. S. Moore

Photo by George Moore.