A place for poems and pics
Spring Again
Next week it will be Spring
again
The crocus and daffodils, that waited beside the
tulips
for the slanting sun rays to warm the earth,
will bloom
and dull winter birds will put on their best feathers
looking
for mates and building nests, never doubting miracles –
like hope
https://dversepoets.com/2025/03/06/mtb-the-poetry-of-names/
I am Air
I breath it in
and speak it out
in puffs of thoughts
formed into words
I breath it in
and shout it out
in curses of anger and despair
I breath it in
and sigh it out
in fervent whispers of hope
I am air
and breath
and life
https://dversepoets.com/2025/02/25/tuesday-poetics-the-four-elements-2/
I’ve Got the Indigo Blues
Not the ordinary blues of
a rainy day or a cancelled adventure
Not the melancholy blues of
a romance that failed
Not even the deep-as-the-ocean blues of
missing someone special
I’ve got the indigo blues of
squashed hope and torched joy-
Just for now
It’s Quadrille Monday!
A Quiet Transfer
The year does not go out with a bang
in spite of the fireworks –
in spite of the music and horns.
While the people sing and celebrate
the old year and the new quietly shake
hands as the mantle of responsibility is exchanged.
Quadrille #214: Going out with a Bang!
Cycle of the Cicada
She heard them before she saw them –
a high-pitched whirring sound, like a herd
of tiny lawn mowers. The nearby woods were the
scene of this emerging miracle, something only seen
every 17 years. Insects, crawling out of the ground,
shedding their outer shells to become winged creatures
with red eyes, like monsters in some scary book, read by
flashlight under the covers – the stuff of nightmares.
Amid the cacophony of their short lives, she prayed the
old woods would still be standing as silent witness
to the next cycle of the cicadas.
Day 25 of Poem a Day
https://www.writersdigest.com/write-better-poetry/2024-april-pad-challenge-day-25
Spring Clean
I’’m letting go of all the bits and bobs
that have accumulated in my heart –
feelings that no longer fit or that pinch
its soft places. I’m sweeping out the
people and places that have gathered in
corners like spider webs. I’m doing a Spring
clean in the basement chambers, going
through boxed up memories, keeping only
the most precious and releasing the rest
to be blown away by winds of change
Golconda by Rene Magritte
Everything We See
Holes in the Heart
How sharp does a word need to be
to pierce the shield woven around a heart?
As sharp as a knife blade or the thorn
on a rose bush, or could it
be a single pin prick couched in the soft folds
of tenderness?
Quadrille #197: Look Sharp, Now! (Let’s write a poem.)
The Art of Spring
She sat at her easel, like an old dutch Master,
trying to capture the essence of a bouquet of daffodils,
bathed in the morning light shining softly through her kitchen window.
Her paints were carefully mixed by hand to create shades of
yellow – golden dawn, golden echo, and lemon beauty. She sketched
their ruffled petals, so like lacey lingerie, and wished she could paint
the scent of them – a love call to bees.
Poetics: Daffy for Daffodils, Sprung in Spring
Just a little poem for those of us who will be changing our clocks tonight.
Gains
Here we are, spinning the hands
of our clocks once again – adding
the hour we stole from the morning
to the end of the day. Gaining not time,
but an hour more of birdsong, sixty minutes
of bees and butterflies, thousands of seconds
in which to find peace as day dissolves into night.
A Simple Request
She didn’t want much –
a touch from a moonbeam
or some such response to
her nighttime entreaty
to the moon that shone down
with benevolent light.
Something she could clutch,
like a sprinkle of stardust
to serve as a nightlight when
nightmares appeared.
rhymeswithbug 