Tag Archives: Spring

Blue is the color of the sky and other misconceptions

Blue is the color of the sky
except when it is waking
then it is a mellow
powdery orange molasses
bubbling up over horizon
over star and behind cloud
except when it is sleeping
then it is a deepening hue
to black speckled with dreamt
stars and hurried comets reflecting
a crescent moon to swim in
except when it is bold
and diligent in its summer ambition
hazed with the glory of worshiping
sun flowers and delighted by
the buzzing beasts beneath
except when it is weary
then it is grey and somber winter worn
radiating the chill of another day
in another place with another lover
called spring who has hidden
itself away yet again
but then
the earth moves and the sun saunters
high above its station
and the sky is blue with joy
a delightful blue calling
memories of childhood escapes
to backyards, too tall trees
and swings hanging from branches
Blue is the color of the sky
except when it isn’t
and then it is the color of our
wants, the hue of our need,
the shading of our memory,
and the present of eyes
willing to see.

Open the doors

Open the doors, the windows and shades
letting in Spring a bit early today! \o/
The crows are cawing, a magpie or two
even the mockingbird is singing a tune
the whole world seems ready; albeit a few days to soon
even the maple has the beginnings of blooms
so…. Open the doors, the windows and shades
let in the Spring just a bit early today!

Winter has reached out

Winter has reached out
firmly grasping life in hand
her shadow lay in crystal memories
upon the clover and the vine
her breath, like frozen smoke, drifts over words
as we brave chill to greet the day
And I for one rejoice
the seasons turning like a wheel
for in her coming she puts to rest passings of our doubt
to relinquish them in seeds of hope
when her sister Spring awakens

Mingled Meandering Thoughts on Spring

Spring has come
upon the winds of movements
in the song of birds
and the delight of lovers
holding each other’s breath
in waiting
for the soul-exchange
to mingle in the expectation
of life
me pause to
consider the fruits of ages past…
this hand
in that hand
and whose hand
but mine in hers
is anymore complete
at the coming of spring?
all seeds rise towards the sun and
as all love breathed
is love and can be
nothing else so
to is the seed of
my soul in her;