the season of blossoms and catkins

 

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky

shimmers with shrills from black ravens, heralding 

the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

emerging with dazzling sunset of pinks and reds

my window frames a day of popping colors-

above the weeping willow tree, the blue sky 

trills along with robins in building their nests

while magnolia trees perfume the air with vengence -

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

sun-painted as dandelions or star-dusted as sakura

i swoon as if i have never seen flowers in my life

under the weeping willow tree.   the blue sky

transforms my words into daisy-chain verses

turning all my empty boxes into seedling pods 

it's the season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

the morning light evokes a joyful sigh 

as trees regain their leaves & tulips begin to bud -  

above the weeping willow trees, the sky blues -

it's season of tiny crowns & catkins & blossoms

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Join us with your 1 poem when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

Our city is bursting with cherry blossoms trees, magnolia trees and catkins from the weeping willow trees.  Outside my "office", the birds are building their nests (under the balcony), and the ravens have returned.  I love the spring season.

The Unravelling

"(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women."

By Amrita Pritam

Unweave these threads across my face

They are bondages that muffles my voice

My word has weight, my name has grace

What you see with nary a shadow or trace 

Of question, interest or life, is a mirage

Unweave these threads across my face

You'll hear my sad songs welling from vase

Broken a long time ago, a bleak montage

My word has weight, my name has grace

I recall them, underneath this shame of lace 

Over my thin shoulders cowed low

Unweave these threads across my face

That you will see me truly, in a place

Worthy & joyful.  I'll let the words steep, stir-

My word has weight, my name has grace

Out of my belly & bosom, into your palms

To hold my face, bare, sun-warmed  

Unweave these threads across my face

My words have weight, my name has grace

Source

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics:  Women are people: invoking Amrita Pritam with guest host, Punam Sharma.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Maybe A Missed Connection

It could have been, maybe, it might have been

Deep dive to sea of passion, leading to a chapel 

Who knows but the wind, spinning tales with grin

It began with friendly banter, light as pins

Harmless I thought, but for you, a secret, an apple

Oh - what could have been, maybes or ifs of 

Had you looked at me, not with a twinkle of a pal 

Had I taken a small bite of your blushing-red proposal

Who knows but the wind, spinning tales with grin

I remember your face, filled with sunlight, a bean

Shivering with energy, the look of an open book - I missed..

it.  It could have been, maybe, it might have been

Had you held my hand, so boldly in another time 

Spinning me in a dance, kissing me up my spine-

Whew!  Maybe the wind knew, spinning tales with grin

Rewinding the clock, our paths entwined

Would lead us - here - our hearts bespoked- 

It could be another tale to "might have been"

Only the wind knows, spinning tales with grin

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics, After St. Valentine Left the Building, hosted by Sarah Connor.  Thanks for the visit.