22 Wednesday Aug 2018
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
Conversations With Maggie, Happiness, Joy, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spring, spring poem, Winter
3.
When winter is deepest, we long
For the warm days of spring–
the birds, the buds, the piercing of snow.
Yet, the warm days are inside us
like love, waiting to be resurrected with joy.
22 Thursday Mar 2018
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
aspen, Brook, Chimes, Death, Early Spring, Fear, Night Terror, Nightmares, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Roses, Spring, spring poem, Unknown, Willow, Wind
I’ll describe early spring,
because it’s easier
than describing fear:
waking at one a.m.
in a terrible dream.
Where are you?
Why don’t you answer?
It’s forty degrees,
and the wind is rattling
the darkness and the chimes.
Everything is touched:
the willow, the aspen, and the roses
just beginning to break
into the tiniest buds.
Yet, still bare, still silent,
still waving their branches,
like I see you, waving your arms.
09 Thursday Apr 2015
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
Bird Poem, Birds, Empty Nest, Nest, Poem, Poems, Poetry, spring poem
They always said how wonderful
The house, emptied of chaos:
Ceaseless noise, busyness, broken things.
Think of all you can do, they said,
And I imagined myself traveling:
Rome, Ireland, rural Maine.
When baby birds fly away,
The parents also disappear,
The nest emptied, quiet, molding,
Until the next spring,
When it’s borrowed anew,
Re-imagined with mud and straw,
And hair from the horse’s mane.
I understand what it’s like,
The need to take flight
From the quiet beds.
What’s the point of the nest
With no throat-open birds,
Waiting to be fed?
