It is my intention to recognize the committed work of writers who agree with the aforesaid aspect: Poetry without words, that it is due to Nature and its transcendent involvement in our lives.
Debrah Riddleton is a young writer, who from my point of view, converge seamlessly into this belief, perhaps more than an environmentalist or puritanical. Their excellent work is proof conclusive of her loving appreciation for nature and its poetic expression.
Here I play one of her blog entries (www.debrahriddleton.blogspot.com )
In Echoes of nature, I attempt to establish that the man violates it, hits it, hurts it, and yet its ability to remake is superior to our capacity for destruction.
Most likely one day everybody will disappear from the face of the earth, and I am sure she will find a way to create a new life, and its echoes will be like the beat of a heart that never stops.
ECHOES OF THE NATURE
I like to listen to the echoes of the nature.
In silence, they are present everywhere
like wanting always remember us
they are there, perennial, intransmutables.
They seem waves of a sea that never stops.
They oscillate pendular and they attract my lost glance.
They do not cry, they do not moan, they only are there,
remembering to me that they are echoes of a past.
They are voices of the nature, that announce
Its presence for not to forget,
that the humans, we are of step,
and they, will be always in the dawn.