Good morning ladies and gents. I don’t know where you are living these days, but Spring is making a coy arrival here (followed, of course, by a snow storm forecasted for the weekend).
But, as I am working towards living in the present moment, here are some thoughts on this hopeful, anticipated season. Enjoy and share!
The Quiet Fury
The silent rustle of Spring
Comes renewed in partial glances
A robin’s canter, coy flash of red breast,
Among the tender buds,
Tucked tight arrow tips.
Fearful, of irrational snow
And wind still chilled by winter’s breath.
The sun creeps round the curtain, lessens her stage fright
Staying for longer moments on horizon’s stage.
Life stirs below ground, within dark chocolate soil
And harbingers of decay make their case like tender pink accordions.
Where last have you slowed the pace of expectancy
To stare in wonder at the world?
When last did you marvel,
Dissect and rescue
The gentle, beautiful
That when in Spring do rise to the occasion
In bursts of sound and furies of color.
What Was. . .
Hours fall silent in Autumn’s dappled shade
Swallowed in fiery grandeur.
Illusion of beauty
Laid waste by crackling footfall.
Wind torn branches
Their cold black fingers
Silhouetted against the potential dawn
Where murderous flocks huddle
Waiting for light,
Both are gone.
My darlings…This humble writer took a short break from her blog this week, but I will catch you on the beautiful flip side of life, next week on Wednesday. Also, look forward to a formal submission call for VerseDay, and all the fun rules and regulations that includes.
Until then, Enjoy a little VerseDay with your Thurs….day.
She came wailing
Screaming into the world on slippery tracks
Destined to set apart the befores from the afters.
She came pink-faced and angry
Perfect petals pouting tirades
Fingers tightly curled into tiny, life-lined palms
She came disgruntled
Protesting the cold and bright,
Raging against the metallic and sterile.
She came to show us, to shake us,
To remind us.
Life twists on, where we least expect.
And where we struggle to control and contain,
She always comes…just the same.
Here’s a little poetic sidetrack for your day.
Remember to send me your stuff and I’ll enter it into the running for The Beautiful Stuff’s poetry anthology due out Fall of 2019.
Count you now,
The minutes and hours of indiscretion against civility.
The innumerable times the heart wandered far into the woods
Captivated by the sounds and sights
Of a universe untouched
Count the ways
You failed to be the raging commercial machine
Felling the bounty of a sphere so generous
Count the ways you threw off the endless hunger
And returned to the beast that made you
The first beast, the wild.
Count it down
The moments we have left her
She fades against the nuclear brilliance of human greed.
Soon to be lost
Only remembered in poems and pictures
Of vagabond souls who understood their own hearts
Count you the ways we miscarried
Crowned champions of the self-destructive species award
Annihilating our gifts as toddlers in a tantrum
Always wanting more
Always seeking to control, to own
It sickens the heart
It drops guilted weight onto the body and cannot be shed
The wrecked and torn pieces left those to come.
Count the beauty lost
The moments yet found
Ephemeral and far between
Fill your heart with them
Spur the fight.
Remember, you upright beast
Rabid and teeth-bearing
Mere genes shy from clamoring in trees
Defend your home.