hope like arugula sprouts
big enough to be seen
from a second-floor window
*
cat out and leap-chasing
shadows—sparrow, crow,
flick/sway of still-bare branches
*
water wind-rippled in bird baths
sometimes sun-shimmered, reflecting
on redbud bark
*
that april blizzard and how
we could see again
smooth-swirl snow on rooftops,
dollops on red-budded trees
death of death, softened
air; reeds, grasses a graveyard
of old sculpture snow-huddled
in slow collapse—
blue-sky water glitters
blackbirds trill and trill
what is this heaven
that you should reach to me
some modern marley’s ghost
warning
(just that the veil is thin
on longest coldest nights
a snowscape
of when you fell?)
or a gentle messenger
sent to wake me
from selfish dream—
roasted meat, mulled wine
hot fire
the cardinal
a splash of red
on swaying graywhite
tree, fat flakes drifting
driftless wonder
leached bleached or drained
? know-not constant
ceaseless wind a film of
ice in the birdbath
dove flaps and settles
hawk silent still
drawing the eye again
a splash of red
on snow
I was going to let this one languish, but Kerfe inspired me with this lovely post.
yet we can seem spendthrift
in any season scattering care
like birdseed on the ground, wet snow
no more weight on tree-shoulders
than skies gray or gold or blue—
and remember what you’ve done for me
shoring up my heart, careful
packing and piling
these paths through snow
with cold fingers rewiring
the whole house to sun-blaze
pouring joy through windows
and doors spilling love into the night
I beg a word on winter.
Enter
Snow and cold are fine, but something’s missing—
Sing
the rustle-song of breeze and piercing blackbird’s call,
All
green-leaf ground and walls of trees,
Ease
early sun and evening alight—
Light
will spring come soon, fair and bright?
(Right)
Something lighter: an echo poem for Jane’s weekly challenge, with special-order blackbird. I was thinking that Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad had an echo story, but maybe I was remembering something from Winnie the Pooh?
Snow falls in brushstrokes
through the night, muting
trees, streets, rooftops
watercolor blue and white
shadowless lamps in daffodil bloom
(Could I take this stillness
to breath, to heart
not wastefully wishing
for storied forest and a moon
1.
crash—
not the cat, not
the glasses, only
my heart begging
another whiff of roses
crushed untasted
unsung under
snow-melt
—smash
2.
broken night
flight of forgotten words
birds faltering, slow
snow-weighted
freighted with fear
here comes their cry
why do I wake
ache for dreams unspoken
broken night
Playing with two prompts today. First part inspired by Quickly, second part inspired by Jane’s circular poetry.
Graceful Press Poetry 