Blooms that hid under the snow
now grow brightly free for spring.
Spring knows of blooming buds;
do you remember flowers?
Blossoming buds rise again
to melt your icy bleak heart.
Snow Blooms
Tag: poetry
Tree Love
The way the branches long for each other,
look at how the moon hangs in the middle.
Such a pretty night, or is it a Winter’s day?
The fog-blue sky of Winter Dreams is cold.
Disturbingly filled with love by the branches,
abandoning protocol to rub against the trees.
Pond Thoughts
The expanse between heaven and earth,
whispering trees tell the clouds many secrets.
Twilight shimmers off the pond water,
and poets contemplate the beauty of the sky.
Talking to the trees hoping they’ll respond,
I think of the many ways to describe you.
Chalice
A chalice full of forest air
beneath Petrichor scents
Waiting for the right time
listening for what comes
Beating the forest drums
vibrations and old energy
Waking the forest dead
calling the trees, animals
One holds the chalice high
another call to the wolves
Visions of the old dead
sap runs down the trees
Something there to remind you
Above mindless human interactions,
you think of all the black and white pictures;
there is always something to remind you.
Free from the judgement of your family,
you can sit and think without anger or sorrow;
something will always be there to remind you.
Above human interaction and the love you crave,
you find a friend to tell you stories of the forest;
you long for something there to remind you.
Colourful World
A world envisioned within a bottle of sand
Rainbow-coloured architecture beautifies a sullen sorry land
Trees love the way bright paint makes them feel
Cats and dogs strut their stuff along the spectacle street
A colourful world of make-believe in a broken world
Who will save us now?
Snow moves like mountain ash,
yet we look up too late.
Who will save us now?
Fate takes the snow,
makes it fall differently,
and we are whole.
We continue to move.
There is only death and decay
to leave behind
since the great war of 2046.
The dance
We all live
in many states of
becoming fragile.
On a day
like any other day,
we venture into the sun.
Her gardens,
they live well,
for they know the seasons.
Money bears
lost in our ways
as we trample the land.
Then,
a Willy Wag Tail dances for us,
and we are different.
Modern
morning routines to fight the aging
trawling through the fashionista waves
walking awkwardly in gusts of wind
dealing with amateur vagina whisperers
working and doing important things
evening meals, cleaning and dreaming
being a woman of modernity
Minuscule
feeling minuscule
ignored by the loud giants
moving wild splashed wings
dancing in melted ice cream
the ladybug has a laugh
C & K 