Spring by the Lake

the water's cold
   although the 
      ice is gone.

   we know icy water 
from almost before 
      we were young .

   stick your toes
in springtime's 
      chilly water. 

your toes went in
      to the ankle;
you know cold water
for long as you live.


      deep chill, 
      down deep
to where light fades

into featureless
      blurry shadow

      diffuse light
seems to come
from every place.


interesting days,
      we still survive:

      icy weather,
   cold spring water
chills our toddler toes.

Daffodils in Springtime

Daffodils in Springtime

daffodils
in springtime,
brighten up
the day,
a small
reminder
maybe,
there is
so much
to say

some of it
has meaning,
maybe,
some of it
profound,
we trust.
some is
like an
old car,
mostly
falling rust

a garden
is a
lovely thing,
like a
sweet old girl,
and growing
things are
precious too,
all around
the world

there is a
beauty in
us all,
something
special there,
we need to
let that
beauty rule
our lives,
don’t neglect
to care

you and i,
and everyone
are part of
something fine,
and yet
we need
humility
until the
end of time

it could come
quickly
for us all,
before we wish
we’re done,
and some of us
may wish
in vain,
perhaps,
for a bit more
simple fun

some, i see,
walking talking,
standing
on the street.
i know i may
not understand,
their rhythms
or their beat

daffodils
in springtime,
brighten up
the day,
a small
reminder
maybe,
there is
so much
to say

 

Like Angels in Springtime

Like Angels in Springtime

Sometimes we may
get too close,
as beautiful
as anything
can be.
The smiles
in that
young girl’s eyes,
I really
love to see.
Plum blossoms
on a chilly tree,
covered by
hardworking bees.
The perfume’s fine,
and almost
brings us
to our knees.

That’s not
so bad.
Perhaps we
could spend
more time
down there,
thankful for
everything
that’s here.
Instead we
scheme and
cheat and
steal,
to get us
things that
are too real.
Things that
have no
feeling.

Angels in
springtime,
attracting bees
(working so hard,
just hear
them buzz).
One taxis
onto the runway
of my hand.
There I stand,
considering
if I’ll kill it
or, pay attention
to it walking
up my arm.
Pause.
That tiny
creature walks
around, and
safely flies
away.
Some new kind
of beauty,
I’d never
noticed
before.

Time for Daisies

Time for Daisies

“Bring me flowers
while I live”,
she said,
so long ago.
We brought
them to her
funeral,
for us
as well as her.

Springtime came
a-walking,
climbing
on a wall.
Bounding
little
children,
pray they
will not fall.
All of us
are children,
learning
each short day.

Black and white
reveals a lot.
Colours can
conceal.
Sorrows,
we can learn
from too,
before our
feelings heal.

White flowers
in the springtime,
on the
flower stand,
waiting for
a buyer
to take them
all in hand.
Disaster in
the springtime,
when promises
are made.
There are
some things
I can not say.
Sweet words
that must
be stayed.

In all my days,
it’s never been
as deadly
as today.
Self-isolation
came too late,
and sickness
came along,
bounding like
a skipping child,
who’s climbed
forbidden walls.
So now we’re
trapped behind
our door,
protecting
one and all.

Springtime came
a-walking,
climbing
on a wall.
Bounding little
children,
pray we will
not fall.
All of us
are children,
learning each
short day.
Black and white
reveals a lot.
Feelings are
concealed.
Sorrows,
we may suffer
too,
before our
feelings heal.

Waiting

Waiting for springtime,
men will fill their time.
Gliding on ice,
on thin steel blades,
fastened to feet,
gliding on water
frozen solid,
warmer perhaps than
chilled January bones.

Shivers remind us
there is still
ice and snow,
diminishing perhaps.
In living memory,
spring has always come.

Lately, it seems
to have come sooner.
Things change.
Meanwhile, there is
waiting for springtime.

Blossoms

Blossoms

Seasonal magic
     bringing such change,
          reminding us
why life,
     in springtime
     brings us
so much
     unreasonable joy.

Green brilliance bursts out
into lengthening days
as little birds
find reasons to sing,
     maybe founding
feathery dynasties,
          with nestlings
     exciting their
     lives in weeks to come.

Lambs we’ve seen,
     springing about
     on rubbery
          infant legs,
     in woolly flocks
and wet muddy
fields.