Friday, April 18, 2014

It's Not Spring Until Easter

their cold buds clenched
in tiny yellow fists
daffodils
and marsh marigolds
refuse to bloom
too soon

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Speeding By Stillness

huddled in curled leaves
gentle brown ground bird
one dark eye staring



Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Spring One Month In

stunned goldfinch, titmouse
stand on the fly-up feeder
stare at the ice dam blocking
their dining tray, wait for the
waitress to scrape and refill
and discreetly disappear

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Terza Rima for Turtles

Rain splashes gravel road and rocks;
wind sweeps the sheltered pond
and slides the turtles off the dock.

Churning water framed by fronds
hinting where the turtles glide:
no longer near they are beyond

in brackish water gone to hide.



This is a brief experiment with terza rima, used for more dignified purposes by Dante in The Divine Comedy. The "chained" rhyme pattern is aba, bcb, cdc, etc. with a last single line rhyming with the middle line of the previous stanza.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Squirrel Feeder

not a red squirrel
chipping angrily
at all comers . . .
but a gray squirrel
hunched to feed
from the chipped rung
of the cedar feeder,
around whom gather
the chickadees,
goldfinches,
nuthatches,
sparrows,
titmice . . .
sharing . . .

How could I
bang on the glass
to scatter this
peaceable kingdom?

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Expectations

Like someone standing too close,
spring
exhales
warm humid breath,
presses
dampness into our house,
wipes
every surface sticky.

A spring more suited to summer,
at work everyone was saying:
‘It’s going to be one of those
years we don’t get any spring.
It’s going straight into summer.’

Why do we expect
gentle transitions
on a planet prone to
sudden tectonic quakes,
cascading mud slides,
violent webs of lightning,
wild contorted winds,
cold crushing ice,
blinding dunes of snow,
drought-driven dust storms?

Like something standing too close,
spring
exhales
hot humid breath
and
      howls.


Saturday, April 12, 2014

"It Doesn't Rhyme"

Another
‘it doesn’t rhyme’ time:
just a bunch of chopped
syllabic sounds
bro
ken
with
apparent
ran
dom
ness
to imply
the
spo
ken
poetic voice.