Category Archives: Poetry

When a Walnut Falls

When a walnut falls, it is . . .
           A sure sign of the autumnal genesis.
           A probable dent in an unlucky car.
           A chore for neighbors whose lawn hosts its sire.

When a walnut falls, it can be . . .
           A hazard to the cyclist who dodges it on the shared path.
           An invitation to the boy who finds it.
           A meal to be stored by the industrious squirrel.

When I was a kid, we took five-gallon buckets into the woods to pick up the walnut harvest.  Dad then scattered our collection across the #3 limestone of the back drive where he parked his truck. Driving across the hulls daily freed the hard inner shells to later be picked up and cracked open, revealing a meaty snack.

When a walnut falls, it is . . .
           A portent of winter to come.
           A provision of nutrients in a fallow season.
           A promise of next generation sapling, tree, wood, furniture and trim.     

When a walnut falls, it is . . .
           An invitation to ponder.
           A sign to observe.
A contribution to consider.

When a walnut falls, it is . . .
           A prompt for a poem.
           A drumbeat in nature.
           A deposit from above.       

© Daniel M. Cash 2025


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Filed under Poetry, Seasons

This Land

This land, emblematic of her multitudinous and flawed inhabitants
Consists of varied features with their own perplexing presentations.

Vast arid plains which alternate from winter’s frigid to summer’s sultry grip.
Mountain ranges of different heights and temperaments.
Great Lakes with deeply cavernous plummets.
Rushing rivers that carry away precipitation toward
Oceans of endless water, wind and strength.

From the swamps of Florida and the bayou,
To the wheatfields of the Palouse and breadbasket that is the Midwest,
America is a geography diversified.

Like the people who have populated her, migrating from various other places.
These people, taking over that which was not theirs, have often
Convinced themselves they can reject others who were here first, or those who would follow later.

The curvature and evolution of this land is ever changing
Like a great dune that is wind swept this way then that.
From Kitty Hawk and the Outer Banks to the shores of Lake Michigan and the
Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado.
This, but one example of change the land both knows, endures and welcomes.

Consider too, though on a longer timeline, the change of canyons and landscapes
Where rivers have been ceaselessly carving, time standing as witness.
Or animal species who once roamed in mass, only to face near extinction,
Sometimes reintroduced. Change and the land have gone hand in hand.

A reminder, during what is a fragile period, that this land oft withstood when it seemed she might not. Withstood weather, economic challenge, civil war, political division and corrupt leaders.
Withstood to stand another day, waiting in hope as for a new dawn.

Far from perfect yet persevering, the homeland seeks to host those who know it and those who would.
An oasis, but sometimes a desert, she can be fickle.
She calls for fortitude from those who would prove up homesteads and speak for justice.

Dream? Yes, dream.  To be a place where children of all skin color, language and creed stand hand in hand to voice a song, pray a prayer, or learn a lesson.
Dream? Yes, dream. To be a place that favors not just those who measure wealth by mammon, but those who know richness comes in many denominations.
Dream? Yes, dream.  Be a dreamer just like those who first came to these shores, and
Those who still yearn to here dwell and be free.    

Dream, and then sing, taking up the prayerful lyrics of ancestors to not give up on the: 

“Land where (our) fathers died” but “from every mountain side”
Let freedom ring!
“No more shall tryants here with haughty steps appear”
But “let mortal tongues awake” and “let all that breathe partake”
“Long may our land be bright, with freedom’s holy light.
Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our king.”

© Daniel M. Cash 2025

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Filed under Holy Days, Passageways, Poetry, Travel

An April Awakening

Bird song calls for an April awakening.
Daffodil responds with exuberant blooms.

The garden absorbs replenishing rains.
Strawberry patch greens and sends forth runners.

Rain barrel awaits its overturn from winter
to begin the seasonal work of gathering.

Deck looks to be populated again by furnishings to welcome guests.
An outdoor oasis of green, bespotted with bursts of yellow, white, purple
and pastels as blooms bring color to the backyard canvas.

Trees that have stood as quiet sentinels through dormant days
now bud and leaf forth in response.

The call for an April awakening comes to all.

© 2025 Daniel M. Cash

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Filed under Poetry, Seasons

“Going to Seed” (A Lenten Sonnet)

“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” – Jesus (John 12:24 NIV)

New birth comes from rebirth. Death begats life.
Lose life and save it. Serve others, find hope.

We join Jesus who invites: “Come and die”.
“Die to self. Follow me”. Blossom. Bloom.

Seed to soil, germinate, mature, bear fruit.
Beyond self, looking out, opening up.

Abundant life today and tomorrow.
From one to many, from little to much.

Lay down freely, sprout forth obediently.
Multiply, influence. Son light yields life.

Practice living by giving up your life.
Greater love has no one save Christ Jesus.

His example is ours to follow up.
Fall to the ground, rise in new life and hope.

© 2025 Daniel M. Cash

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Filed under Christian Faith, Holy Days, Poetry

The Beachcomber

A steady gait, head down, eyes focused
Full visor, tinted glasses, bare feet.

Oblivious to scantly clad coeds
Lying prostrate in their solar worship,

She pursues her craft with single-minded purpose.
Examining the deposits on surf and sand.

Scallop, limpet, jingle, olive, whelk
Conch (if lucky), sand dollar, tooth of shark.

Collections made and discoveries counted,
Many blemished or broken, others whole.

She moves with no regard for volleyball games
Or boogie board, determined to scan the sand.

Early morning, mid-day, at sunset
The work carries on, as if by calling.

One who appreciates the artifacts of ocean gifts –
She is the beachcomber.

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Filed under Poetry, Travel