Tag Archives: Spring

Continued Dream

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Waters carry me past winter,
Here allow me to sleep.
With no veil, these tired eyes pried open
Then forced closed on what they keep.
If we see nightmares in the day,
Are we really asleep?
Floating through what I once thought to be a stream,
Shocked to learn it a river,
What I thought was spring,
Really was the end of summer.
My eyes closed, am I alone in this stream?
Maybe yes. I’ll continue to dream.

My Favorite Season

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I long for the days to grow shorter.
The heat to fade and the cold to grow harsher.
Spring only leads to summer, and fall not close enough,
Throughout the year, too much tangled up stuff.
Give me the storms and rain and snow,
As long as their wind remains cold.
Until the sun grows cold and gives us less light,
I’ll pretend I’m sleeping, I’ll pretend it’s night.

She Contemplates


She is the watchful in the dusk,
While we’re the waiting.
She stands in the forest dark,
While we’re preparing.
A friend of the ravens and the leaves,
Of melting snow and fallen trees.
Patiently we wait for her to awaken the bees.
Sleeping winter wakes
Springs fluttering eyes, their first look take.
And we the waiting
Gather the first flowers her bees pollenate.
While she, watchful,
Of where to send her first rain,
She contemplates.

Waiting for the Snow

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Follow me into the light
The sun would lend you anyway.
“Tomorrow’s gone, now have no fright.”
The foggy morning says.
Were I to ask you what the night
And moon and stars would say,
Do not answer if you do not know
I musn’t know today.

Continue on the path with me
And soon I will show
What you’ve been waiting for,
But you must wait until the flowers grow.
Spring to summer, summer to fall
Follow me and we’ll go
With our questions, searching for answers
While we wait for winters snow.

Weeds?


A shower comes to springs end.
A new dawn with which to tend,
Each new day having brought a seed,
Whether it a flower or it a weed.
Though who’s to say which one is?
The beholder’s as shallow as it is,
Every daughter and son: a judge unto themselves.
Every court without a jury; mercilessly and unjustly delves
Into the case of assigning value.
Into the ends that suit themselves.

A Sonnet to Seasons Change

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Within the forest, forever she sleeps.
The winter wind has tried to call her back.
No spring, no summer,  a constant sleep deep,
Any certainty of waking, she lacks.
How long has this winter been? Cold wind blows
Over what must soon come to be her grave:
A full moon and the snowy trees below.
This is all that is left from what she gave,
Where’s spring? No living memory holds summer.
“Oh, the ice! Where is the fair face of fall?”
A common lament of those who love her.
Not one, but many. Of them, she is all.
She is the snow, the rain, the heat, the wind.
From the snow sprouts a bud. New life begins.

Tired Earth

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Cradled in the night: sleeping earth.
The stars, solitary eyes, observing the birth.
One too many times; everyday she
Tries to hold this sleep and be,
Eternally cold.
Her soul, old,
Wearily gives birth to season after season,
Knowing they’ll soon be ancient, a reason,
An excuse to hate the life-giving spring.
The snow, her blanket. The Sun and Moon now sing.
This: before birth her last sleep.
The joy she’ll feel in summer,
Will rend all her fear asunder.
But every year it’s the snow that she prays to keep.