nary a worry bare’ing on the cloud countenance fair recompense for seasons spent – in blankets distant time now in slumber in the gloaming a solid azure temple looms testament to that coming soon if joy had a soul and a mate written ‘cross this beaming sky even up on the skin of suns doth sing, doth rejoice hymns of the life of promise for even death’s dark heart, is warm’d I would not foretell a gospel of such emancipation- the atmosphere, she is in courtship with every breath drawn in on the air’e – rides sensations eyes that have had this common pause this common cause down unto a leaf the beauty say keep from within my hand into the very ground reflecting back, our wonders spin-spinning faster the sunlight slides out across the landscape flat shadows stretch long they affirm my existence for now, at least – for now.
forsythia, my dear, my consort cast out upon the land a golden plume a golden mane the stirring locks of ostara herself harbinger of spring message received for you are truly born of the stars from your roots rise sunrise up upon this earth- rejoice! spring’s sweet songs do awaken.
for spring is a procession of progression– cherry blossoms bathe the path in white to lavender and all manners up to purple, urban planning has them lining the streets in rows like a royal parade celebrating victory over the great winter – for at least a time, and short lived they will fall like confetti littering the street on the day after, the daffodils, holding golden cups sky-upward ready to brim with the coming rains, those same rains will flatten them as they nourish the rest of the surely coming green flourish, the ramps, onion cousins, or maybe garlic uncles, no, more like tiny onions, their chive clump headdress pokes through looking like unruly fits of grass, spring onions – yes, they are known to check in with such a name in certain establishments, the arcs of forsythia, golden arches with no drive thru, inspired in such golden rod as to make midas blush, the mornings are filling with song and sun, Ostara winks as her womb births the dawn of hope, and so I do, spring is hope, hope is spring, and then the worn hot complacency of summer sets in, burns out all the green, and then the world must sleep once more to regain, to regenerate, to be born once again – better to enjoy this now, the colors, the procession, the daily progress of life bursting to be seen, yes, take in the scene.
sunrise- for surely you realize I have waited up for you all night, like a train that arrives at the station, yes, I have the brochure the times and destinations listed- but still, the vanguard on the shadow loom prompts fear on the loose as time drips slowly down fears bread and brood rampaging now – out of sight slightest sounds reflect until- that morning light – a morsel of salvation as mana from heaven.
notes… restless night, waiting for the birdsong, waiting for the sun, anticipation causing anxiety tapping insomnia, not my usual gig, not my usual thing, but every once in a while the night is long, longer than others, at least in thought, at least in my craw, so it was…
(wings are not always feathers) for might I – fly? even then- imagine, a butterfly in flight is an exercise the so-delicate the so-soft the ballet pirouette yet effort lies root the rouse; to my friend, the hummingbird a dervish of the common earth a-wings a-blur hand a scepter to the nectar queen move forward from that pounding heart, I might rather be a simple gull and glide on above ocean tides, falls and rise suspended as with silken threads, drawn a puppets ride swaying forth like a child’s swing as someone else pushes- perhaps… even that… the hands of god.
my beautiful flower for what have I done poisoned my garden ’till kingdom come
notes… since my father passed I have been posting photos on my facebook page daily, and of course I wound up running across photos of her, my true love, the major screw up I can never mend, well, I hope but that was many years ago, time is supposed to mend or heal, not so much here, I try not dwell but honestly it is always there, somewhere, some days just rise and it is all I can think about, just happened to coincide with V-day, I used to make her special meals, with red themes, heart shaped veg or the like, always something ambitious, I miss those days, but I am still here and there are days ahead, so that has to be my focus, but seeing those old photos, the closeness, her holding me and me her, in addition to my old dog, Chestnut, whom I loved so very much, and made mistakes like any first time parent, memories, of all the animals we had, practically a zoo, birds (amazon yellow front, parakeet, parotlet, monk parakeet), a degu, pacus, turtles (mississippi mud and soft shell), a mexican tarantula, a sugar glider and a texas ground squirrel… yeah it was pretty nuts, and I leaving out the scorpions and betas… retrospect always breeds romanticism, but who am I to argue with my own feelings? but accept them.