Spring exhales in hues
so pale
it turns the dawn
to merest veil;
even bones
in shroud aurorean
seem to join
in morning paean.
Category Archives: Spring
May 1.20: Coping
The day explodes with light
and many a robin aria;
twinkling dew engirds
dandelion luminaria.
Wishing you some form of light,
dear reader,
in this new month.
April 30.20: Coping
And so, dear reader, do we come to the end of Poetry Month, which I have endeavored to mark with a poem a day. I have greatly appreciated your company along the way, and I thank you with something for today’s celebration of Poem-In-Your-Pocket Day. I have sent this to you before, but, since it’s one of my favorites, I send it again.
THE MIRACLE OF SPRING
We glibly talk
of nature’s laws
but do things have
a natural cause?
Black earth becoming
yellow crocus
is undiluted
hocus-pocus.
— Piet Hein
I can’t say I’m any closer to a satisfying definition of poetry. It completely eludes me why some things are considered poems. Although I try to work with rhyme, it’s not because I think rhyme makes a poem; it’s something else that makes a poem. That part is mysterious to me.
But besides marking poetry month, I wrote daily as a way of coping. Poetry month might be over, but I still have to cope, so I might continue the mighty effort to post something every day. It’s good for me to try. I hope you are finding ways to cope, too. The anguish of this time is real and deep and we have to find ways to hold on to our humanness.
April 16.20: Coping
Birthing green
each debut
ancient story
still seems new.
April 15.20: Coping
Yesterday was awful
it started freezing cold
news blizzards swirled around me
I felt beat up and old.
The only thing to do
before I oxidized
was check the windswept pond
for life more civilized.
It seemed I had new neighbors,
two couples, more’s the merry;
I think they’re blue-winged teals —
how very salutary!
Do you know, dear reader?
Am I becoming duck-savvy?
I grieve to say my buffleheads have not come back.
April 13.20: Coping
In pastel voice the trees sang out
yoo-hoo’d the daffodil
the wind laughed at my camera
and nothing would hold still.
April 12.20: Coping
It’s in the unfolding
spring’s reluctance
a depth is hinted
in shy abundance.
Beautiful traditions are abandoned this year,
stripped to their meaning.
Whatever your beliefs, your stories, dear reader,
may there be meaning.
April 9.20: Coping
Just outside my window
comfy as can be
a most complacent duck
dwells in reverie.
Something makes her happy
content to sit a while
a secret she is hiding
with inscrutable duck smile.
With apologies for filmy look:
I had to sneak this through the Venetian blinds.
Maybe someone needs to wash her windows?
Nah…she’s not that bored!
April 7.20: Coping
“Lavender blue”
and “lavender green”
a few “dilly-dilly’s”
and “you’ll be my queen.”
I never could figure
the words to this song
but that didn’t stop me
from singing along.
I find peace in my garden
and old-timey words
where twitters and tweets
come only from birds.
Family update: my son had “a bit of a relapse” yesterday.
He is being careful.
April 3.20: Coping
I escaped into the garden,
a news-free calming spot,
to check on season’s progress
in every nook and pot.
Imagine my excitement
at this discovery;
I’m thrilled with its new life
but no idea what it might be.
Do you know, dear reader?
Is there any chance this could be the scabiosa that jumped into my cart last year?
