Nostalgic moments

rise unbidden from the deep,

swallow us in warm regard.

~

Sweet past moments peek

into the present and bring

balance to our days.

Misery Defined:

working inside on taxes

when outside it is sublime.

~

Some say Diligence

is its own reward, but some

know that’s all just poppycock.

So, she wants control.

I guess she does not yet know

control is an illusion.

~

But loss of control

is no illusion as so

many of us know.

Before mowers come

daffodils fill medians

and brighten our way.

~

After we have gone

and our works have turned to dust

they’ll remain our requiem

Pondering the plan,

of dinner preparation

propagates dyspepsia.

~

That merely means we

must venture forth and mull meal

menus from fun restaurants.

March has been full of

weather teases and lies. Hope

April doesn’t follow suit.

~

Lies and teases have

become the norm for most all

climate related discourse.

That bull terrier-

strangers do not know his bark

is far worse than his kisses.

~

And because of that

I am protected and quite

grateful when strangers arrive.

It seems some budding

leaves turn red with anger when

Spring weather turns icy cold.

~

That burning fury

may yield just the little heat

they need for their survival.

Slept the clock around

for the first time in decades

yet, somehow, don’t feel refreshed.

~

When sleep fails to bring

refreshment, we might ask what

it is that needs refreshing.

Arose before four,

before the sun even thought

of rising…oh well.

~

A rose, before four,

is, almost, a teatime rose.

It just needs caffeine to bloom.

Manage the crisis;

not by offering advice

but by lending assistance.

~

That old song says it

very well: “We get by with

a little help from our friends.”

So Satisfying

to know at day’s end needed

tasks are at last done.

~

Why, then, can I not

cast myself upon my bed

to reap my reward of sleep?

Was that frigid gale

Winter’s last heroic gasp

or Spring’s overture?

~

Either way let’s hope

Winter finally rests and lets

Spring step forth and fully sing.

Hearing the old tree

creak, I realized we two have

some things in common.

~

Luckily for us,

when we crack- come crashing down,

there is hope we’ll rise again.

Color me cautious

when I don’t get excited

on regarding clear dawn skies.

~

Riding the seesaw

of changing weather makes us

worry about falling off.

An undisclosed source

told winter it could linger.

Let’s track that source down.

~

When we find them out

applying heat and pressure

will rectify the problem.

It’s not the warming

I welcome most, every spring;

rather, the soft greening light.

~

I welcome the return

of fullness after so much

of its opposite.

I don’t wonder where

the wild things are. They are

here fighting over birdseed.

~

Though wreaking havoc,

with or without their wolf suits,

no one denies crows their meal!

Seeing all those new

buds, I ask myself where are

there new buds in me?

~

Dear, those bud-like things

are just polyps and skin-tags

hardly harbingers of spring.

When loved ones are ill

and we’re powerless to help,

it’s o.k. for men to cry.

~

Distant wind chimes sing,

inviting us to briefly

pause and listen to their song.

~

A welcome relief,

that moment of refreshment,

from our springtime garden chores.

In this small garden,

why do plants not go to war

fighting over precious dirt?

~

Perhaps kudzu has

not yet come their way and those

plants can live another day.

Sublime shiftlessness

is what I seek but from me

it most often hides.

~

One must have a goal.

Some endeavor to become

superlatively lazy

Argent moon beams shine ,

seemingly as bright as day,

sparkling on still waters.

~

Followed by golden

sun after rain-filled days – gifts

to us from above.

No need to mine for

gold. It abounds all around

in bush and flower.

~

Auric hues abound,

glorious in all seasons,

if we take the time to look.

Some days we want to

lay abed doing nothing…

of course, that’s when duty calls.

~

Often in the form

of what cats, dogs, birds, others

think our duty is.

March arrives, bringing

many colored bouquets. Let’s

hope they’re not refused

~

Although the garden

yields bouquets in quantity,

our poetry… not so much.

Concluding this month

erratic as the season;

hit or miss presentation.

~

Maybe we’re waiting

for leap year to jump into

a proper schedule.

It’s hard to listen

to the whispers of the soul

when ego does the talking.

~

Those insistent shouts

seem intent on drowning out

the wisdom of the whispers.