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 abounds

glowing bright in all seasons

if you keep a watchful eye

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.

What use catharsis

when there’s no forward progress

and we wallow as before?

~

What helps us let go

and move ahead is often

a mystery even to us.

Riding this weather

seesaw is definitely

not some child play.

~

Skating with the sun

over the waves of the day

ends with surfing the sunset.

The consequences

of our conceit will come due

with exponential interest.

~

Already interest

has begun to compound, but

we’re oblivious.

Almost seventy

degrees. The sun’s working hard

this February morning.

~

Be not beguiled,

by this sudden balmy bit,

winter’s yet to throw its fit.

Like Hopper’s “Nighthawks”

he sat at the bar, thinking,

“Is this date over or not?”

~

Even when we’re with

others we can feel alone

and crave our own company.

The door is locked. There’s

no way out. Inspiration’s

fled. Perseveration starts.

~

Perseveration

seizes the mind and smothers

creativity.

One wild bike ride’s

infectious adrenaline

writ large in silent cement.

~

It’s as though you were

on that long ago ride, now

cast in eternal concrete.

If you want to get

a strike, you’re going to have

to lower your pitch.

~

Or, change direction

once the batter thinks they know

where this whole thing is going.

A walk in the rain

may seem romantic, but not

at seven am.

~

Romantic, maybe,

in the high heat of summer.

Winter Romance must have snow.

Last night’s warm caress

raised peepers from their slumber

to serenade hints of spring.

~

Also stirred sleeping

skunk who filled the air with some

lingering, pungent protests.