spring

mother arrives with a knife

cutting down the dead tree with swift blows-

pulling back dull curtains, bagging old

autumn leaves & winter bones with twisted bow    

this is a season of hardiness as stubborn

bull, plunging into the open air with grit & breath

of a seasoned traveler, braving the rain & roller- 

coaster wind, driving head first to sow seeds & spores

spring season arrives with false starts

much like a failing review of a premiere movie night-  

or a disappointing first-look of famous landmark-

it is a short season as the cherry blossoms trees-

yet in every spring season, you marvel its art-

thick thistles of flowerets- 

gnarly green fingers rising from mud-

red-veined leaves, delicate as old woman's hands-

  

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics:   Getting Hooked on Opening Lines, hosted by Kim Russell.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you.

a letter to Ilhan Sami Comak

I bring you the season of tulips

and lilacs from our spring season in Ontario

The smell of lilacs is fresh citrus

A reminder of how beautiful spring is

Outside of your prison bars

For more than 25 years

I come bearing the sounds of robins & bluejays

The sighs from the weeping willow trees

As I open the window 

There's black raven flying above our maple trees

Its powerful wings reaching for the sky

I weep when I think about prison walls & cages

We are meant to fly, unchained

And walk, untied

Not of fear or rage or bitterness

But with gentle voice

I hear you

Above the rumbles of dust storm 

The cry for justice

Between dusk and dawn

You will persevere with your will of steel 

One day, you will be walking free

And writing back to me

How you got lost in the forest

smelling the wildflowers   

with petals bluer than the sky

******

Note about the epistle poem:  

You can read three poems for and poems by Ilhan Sami Comak who has been in a Turkish prison for 27 years. He was arrested as an activist and later became a poet in prison.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Poetics - Uncaging the Poet, with guest host, Paul from Parallax.   Please join us for the theme of justice for those poets behind bars, when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

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.

A Painter Without A Brush

 

the brush is a mongrel moon

a sop of soap stone, lump of foolish

grains in my hands, grey from winter

my fingertips are callous

unfeeling of any rhythm on canvas

i am slumbering shadow of dust

among the fine selections of books in garden

the sun brings a jingle of spring's eyes

as bouquet of wildflowers for the first

time & i am enamored with torrential clouds

of hues, shapes & hollows & tangent of words, whorls

of verses, as if famished, i drink it slowly

colors infuse & thrum, sharp as limes & lemons

my lips are basted by magenta & saffron spice

uncorked, honeycomb drips unabashed on ground

bees alight in morning blush of dewdrop

as if i am apricot tulip, budding rosy 

a new day, i 

am

Title from:  A Painter Without a Brush (Gerhard Richter)

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  Poetics:  The Poet as Painter,  Hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   Please join us for a wonderful prompt at 3pm EST.

One spring day

morning mist  
bridal veils of white   
rain hymns on my cheeks

skirt me emerald green
with thumbs so new
dewdrops slip from my crown-

robe me blue
deep shade of lake
pregnant with reverence

slipper this path-
dash of yellow tulips & whiff of
pink magnolias

and I'll spin
in the jar:
birdsongs, cotton stars
and sun-roasted spice

                                               Blue-eyed wild flower, Riverwood


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight, Hosted by Lillian Hallberg. Join us with a poem when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for the visit.

Season of dandelions

2018 Photo by Grace@Everyday Amazing


Your yellow faces mirror the sky's mantle
Brightening paths of grey 
Sway your pinwheel blooms to slather 
sunshine and green into our steps

Underneath cherry and magnolia petals
you root where the wind carries you-
you weed with careless swagger of young
heart, not caring for tomorrow's rain

Stay awhile as tulips bloom
And fruit trees dip with peach flowers
Gloriously cascading rain-soaked plumes 
This season of spring has short hours

Remind me, not to count how long
you are around, twirling cotton stars
But to inhale your season with gusto
As you bob to sounds of tambourines 




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.   Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thanks for your visit.