On brown flood water

Three short poems for early spring.

Photo ©Virginia State Parks staff

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On brown flood water,

Buttercups nodding,

Yellow buds sleeping,

Tough roots digging,

Into cold mud.

Sharp breeze riffling,

Brown sedge greening,

Where blackbird is singing,

Spring is coming,

On the ebb tide.

 

Winter rose trembles

wind-plucked petals fall

to mingle with last snowflakes

in a spun sugar ballet.

 

Your arms full of petals,

Wrapped in a tangle

Of scented limbs,

Drowning us both

In a snowstorm

Of blue sky-painted

Spring birdsong.

High tide

Another circular poem. Or whatever it’s really called. If anyone else wants to have a go on the theme of Autumn, just leave the poem in the comments and I’ll post it with links to your blog.

Photo ©Robvanvee
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High tide floods the bank,
Lank grasses float,
Motes of golden light,
Flight of gulls on the sea wind yell,
Tell the message from the northern ice.
Twice, thrice the hound bays the moon,
Soon winter will split the boughs,
Soughs the wind through the reeds,
Seeds of winter blowing,
Snowing in the northern wastes.
Tastes the bitter cold waiting in the shadows,
Shallows full of broken pieces of the summer past,
Last resting place for drifts of wood cast up to dry,
High tide floods the bank.

Autumn river

Autumn sun shines

bright as an August morning

but the racing tide runs higher

bolder

in a torrent of drowned tree trunks

torn from some seaward mudbank

shattering the placid summer mirror.

The gentle breeze sighs

buffeted by wilder gusts

all softness wrung and scattered.

Sharp-edged and unkind

the wind that blows now

to shake the yellow leaves

until they fall

cascade

a brittle rain across the water.

And in its voice the howl of the bleak ocean

and the champing of winter cold.

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