Monday, September 19, 2016

Spring









spring day,
a yellow leaf falls –
ah! a butterfly












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










spring puddles -
the rain falling
into itself 















green shoots;
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 













 spring time –
harvest season
for the butterflies and bees














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
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















the redbirds and I
impatient
for the dewberries













a day of plowing –
furrows crimp
the 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















new garden;
each year I look
more like the scarecrow













strong spring winds 
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;
a red wagon -
a child pulling a child














where the girls played –
chalk markings
on the sidewalk














spring winds -
a farmer atop the tractor
loses his cap











late spring -
under the green woods
roll the Appalachian hills

  







  






fresh spring breezes
turning over
every new leaf 










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










early spring –
a hint of green
in the dewberry thicket












wisteria in the pines –
scaling higher
each year










sun shower –
a muddy field;
shining tractor











in the muddy field -
a yellow tractor;
whitetail deer









afternoon nap –
the sound of rain

through an open window