Three short poems for early spring.
Photo ©Virginia State Parks staff
On brown flood water,
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
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.
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 sun shines
bright as an August morning
but the racing tide runs higher
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
a brittle rain across the water.
And in its voice the howl of the bleak ocean
and the champing of winter cold.