old lilac bush
beside the highway
scent of one hundred springs
Posts Tagged ‘spring’
One Deep Purple
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged history, lilac, poem, poetry, scent, spring on June 2, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Springing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged mud, poem, poetry, shine, spring on March 23, 2019| Leave a Comment »
I am reborn into the world of radiance—
crystalline icicles, glittering reaches of snow—
and whatever in me is old brown stick,
whatever in me is withered rose hip,
whatever is desiccated and dead takes notice
of the shine and says, Teach me that.
I am reborn into the world of drip
and melt and streets of mud,
and whatever part of me is muck-squeamish
and sludge resistant goes walking anyway
and wallows and squishes and slips and laughs.
In that slippery moment, the part of me
who has died becomes lotus.
And who is it in me that scoffs
and says Who are you to be lotus?
I show her diamonds in the field,
the big blue dome of sky, the vast
expanses of glistening mud,
and I ask her, Who are you not to be?
One Reality Check
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged independence, love, mud, poem, poetry, spring on March 18, 2019| Leave a Comment »
cleaning off my shoes
before walking through the mud,
and Love says to me,
what? do you think
I am going to carry you?
If You Hear a Rustle, Perhaps
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged angel, fall, grass, poem, poetry, rest, spring on November 10, 2018| 8 Comments »
Every blade of grass has an angel that bends over it and whispers, “Grow, grow.”
—The Talmud
Imagine them, all those angels
jostling over the field,
catching their hands
in each other’s halos,
their wings a shimmering
fuss. Imagine the rising tide
of the chorus, how
whisper turns clamor
turns turbulent roar.
Imagine the dizzying pitch
of encouragement, grow,
Grow, GROW, until bam!
a riotous tumult of green.
But what of the song
at the end of the season,
when angels, exhausted,
sigh rest, rest. And they press
their tired cheeks against
each other’s faces, let
their wings dangle
in lucent grace. And the field,
seeded, relaxes and goldens
and sleeps. And the angels
snuggle in sacred heaps and breathe,
and breathe, white robes
like snow, and they sleep talk
between their sonorous snores,
that’s enough, dear one, let go.
One More Storm that Didn’t Happen
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, snow, spring, winter on March 28, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Catkins in March
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged aspen, choice, poem, poetry, spring, timshel, trees on March 17, 2018| 2 Comments »
But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—”Thou mayest”— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open.
—John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Today it was the aspen buds
that ruined my heart.
One glimpse of them
through the window, and
for that moment,
the inner winter I’d constructed
out of should and shalt
fell down like bricks. Perhaps I could have
returned to work, but instead
stared at the soft gray
tufts of spring. How they defy
the stubborn chill. And almost
against my will, in me I felt
an opening I didn’t quite want,
and perhaps I didn’t want to hear
a small voice saying, you
have a choice, you
have a choice.
After Winter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, present, seasons, spring on May 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Sometimes in spring
I forget it is ever
not spring, forget
that there will be a time
without hummingbirds
and the raucous call
of the geese. These lilacs
and their purple scent
are forever. Forever
is this deep green field.
I almost resent
the voice that writes this poem,
the part that notices how already
the apples have gone
from ecstatic white bloom
to small hard fruit.
One Humbling
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 84, poem, poetry, spring, work on May 24, 2017| Leave a Comment »
in seven days
the radish sprouts
push green through earth—
every job on my list today
seems quite easy
RSVP
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged falling in love with the world, poem, poetry, spring on May 11, 2017| 2 Comments »
And why not be flagrantly happy,
really. The moon is full and rakish
and spring keeps teasing the morning
into taking off its sweater. By noon,
everyone is blushing. In the garden,
strawberries come up on their own,
their fearless white flowers
pre-wired for sweetness.
Who cares the weeds are already
releasing their onslaught of filigreed seeds.
Inside us, an open invitation to fall in love.
Inside us, the pluck to say yes.
One Spring Lesson
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, pussy willow, softness, spring on May 4, 2017| Leave a Comment »
arriving with no armor
with softness
they teach me
another way to meet the cold,
these pussy willows
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