I Talk Too Much About Daffodils

To be so in love with spring;
to breathe when green returns,
giggling at the tickle of wildflowers
on bare feet, like Grandma did
watering borders of violets,
clothes blowing on the line,

and me,
carrying the oversized watercan
wide-eyed as I am now,
admiring the fragility of daffodils
burning a yellow memory
that flows into my poetry
and I just can’t stop them
from blooming in my mind.

~

~
Day 27 of NaPoMo (a poem a day for National Poetry Month)

Love and the Little Things

He holds my hand
even as we sleep;
gentle brush of fingertips
across my cheek
as we awaken.

He loves me
when it’s not easy,
kisses tears away
before they fall;

whispers me off the edge.

He applauds my attempts,
overlooks my faults;

still surprises me
after all this time
with that smile

and pink roses
behind his back.

~

~
day 26 of NaPoMo (a poem a day for National Poetry Month)

The Ins and Outs of November

The light shone
on blooming flowers
like the joy of a new morning
yellow as daffodils,
vibrant as spring,

but seasons changed,
shadows blocked the sun,
hindered the river’s flow;
webs encircling the willows
like overgrown weeds
in a stagnant garden.

~
~
day 25 of NaPoMo (a poem a day for National Poetry Month)

The Blackbird

Stepping out of the gray
into an awakening
where the haze lifts
from forgiving eyes
and dawn is broken;

light saturating
every crevasse

of a battered heart.

The blackbird
left my window sill
just as first spring flowers
began to bloom

seeking out new prey
amidst the scatterings

left behind.

~
~
NaPoMo day 23 (a poem a day for National poetry month)

Hindsight

Things appear different
when you’re looking
from the outside, in;
rose colored glasses,
now muted and gray,

pieces floating on air;
the remaining remnants
of a broken kaleidoscope.

Fields of wildflowers,
(you once called weeds,)
paint a pretty picture
of an imagination
gone awry,

putting best laid plans
to rest.

~
~
NaPoMo day 23 (a poem a day for National Poetry Month)

Serenade

Clouds swirl around stars
as weeping willows sway
and fingers strum hymns
only your heart can hear.

Your words bloom roses;
lend comfort to my bones
sing like psalms to the ear.

Let mine touch your soul,
bring a reminder that love
is the one constant;

an unconditional gift
only he can give,
wrapped in binding
with gold edged pages;
your name whispered,

calling the one sheep
out of ninety-nine.

~
for a dear friend

feuille-morte

November took the remnants
of color out of autumn;

faded russet, sepia
and magenta falling
in a labor of love;

scent of ambre gris
wafting in the breeze
as the season
came to an end.

~
~
Day 21 of NaPoMo (a poem a day for National poetry month)

Genesis

She sees her reflection
in crystal blue ponds,
in pages of poetry,

in the joyful glimmer
of her daughter’s eyes.

There is no end,

just another
beautiful beginning

where streams of light
circle our silhouettes
in the midst of emerald.

Willows sway,
sprinkling grace
upon unexpecting
flowering incumbents

and days run into nights
turning us all into poets.

High Tide

She awakens
to the sound of seagulls,
a light in the distance;

a remembrance of him.

She whispers poetry
under 2:00 am skies;
rhythm of clouds
in accompanying chorus
with rippling waters;

her heart sending smoke signals
when the waves get too rough.

~
~
day 19 of NaPoMo (a poem a day for National poetry month)

Silence

Scattered promises
spread like weeds
overgrown, exaggerated,
until blossoms
expel themselves
from the untended garden.

Mountains in the distance glow;
a reminder of the climb;
the distance between us

and the silence
is the loudest sound of all.

~

~
NaPoMo day 18 (a poem a day for National POetry MOnth)

If We Don’t Dance

Spring up!
from your feathered dreams;

listen to the hum of praise
from windblown trees, mountains,
ever flowing, winding rivers
and the rain that falls on dandelions;

yellow fields of wishes born of dust.

How can anyone deny miracles
when light captures the twinkle
in his eyes, and constellations
remind us how fast we fall,

then shine again in his light?

~
day 17 of NaPoMo (a poem a day for National Poetry Month)
Happy Easter!

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Sweet Talk

I’m lying here listening to the quiet;
searching for missing constellations
in rivers of shadow and light,

running my fingers over a keypad,
waiting for words to cross over
playing adjectives
against one another.

Lacking sleep, I bribe the muse
with the aroma of brewing coffee
feeding her vanity
with spoons of sugar

and lines borrowed from Neruda
until she blooms another poem.

~
~
Day 16 of NaPoMo (a poem a day for National poetry month)