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.
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!
I suspect there’s bots
following our poets’ blog!
What human “likes” empty posts?
~
For bots empty posts
may have a music seldom
found where words abound.
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.