Monday, September 19, 2016

Spring









spring woods;
a yellow leaf falls –
ah! a butterfly












furrowed field –
the farmer’s face
splits into a grin










spring puddles -
the rain
falling into itself 















spring garden;
the scarecrow stuffed
with autumn straw














tilled ground –
the dry wood
of the hoe’s handle















outstretched arms –
the scarecrow
models his new duds















flame azaleas bloom
in the beds
of a burnt-out house 













 springtime –
for the butterflies and bees,
the season of harvest













dropping from one loneliness
into another –
the chrysalis












cold morning –
the gritty scrape
of the hoe










the starless area
of the sky –
a looming mountain














 
a winter of deaths –
the spring lilies
smell funereal














folded wings –
all of a moth
the spider left











butterfly
on a rake’s handle –
perhaps, it’s dreaming











the clink of our gear,
no words between us
this cold mountain morning














 
the magnolia blossoms
discolor
in the cold May rain













roses cling
to the stone house –
our late neighbor













a dewy rose –
the papery wings
of a butterfly














like the dew –
spring evanesces
into summer















after the burial –
a day moon
rising













a sparrow alights –
the gate chain dropping
a chain of dew













near the hayfield fences,
bumblebees
visit the milk thistle











a brief shower –
plum petals float
in the fresh puddles












spring thaw –
drop by drop, the opaque
becomes transparent






















urban garden –
roses scale
the razor wire fence















flies buzz the dung;
monarchs dip
into the azaleas











thumps and patters
on my umbrella –
under the plums and out














plum petals,
bird droppings
on the garden buddha














 
the slightest waft
reveals their presence –
gardenias































the passing of spring –
my empty
sake cup















impatient
for the dewberries -
the redbirds and I












a day of plowing –
furrows crimp
our long shadows

















spring garden –
the scarecrow
wears last year’s hat













 
delicately
the butterfly
enters the tulip
















gently raking
the flower parts –
butterfly wings














silent labors –
a moth, a spider,
the yellow rose











its silent shape –
the bell’s shadow
on the garden wall
















dewdrops
on red roses –
a white butterfly

















spring garden;
each year I look
more like the scarecrow








 storm winds
roughen the lake,
stretch the willows eastward














 spring day –
among the furrows,
a scarecrow’s hat













a sudden shower
rattles loudly 
on the bus stop roof











                                                dogwood blossoms -
                                                               last to fade 
in the twilight 












spring day;
red wagon,
a child pulling a child














where the girls played –
faded chalk 
on the sidewalk














spring winds -
the man atop a tractor
loses his cap











late spring -
under the green woods
roll the Appalachian hills

  










  








spring breezes
turning over
each new leaf











four a.m. –
listening to my house
chat with the rain










onset of spring –
the dewberry thickets 
greening









wisteria in the pines –
each year
creeping higher











sun shower –
in the muddy field,
a glistening tractor











in the muddy field -
a yellow tractor;
whitetail deer









afternoon nap –
the rain's patter 
through an open window