I’m coming back, o yes, I’m coming back
from drug-induced exhaustion. More like spring,
I open, little at a time, and cling
to daffodil arrangements. Winter black
took all my energy and made me spin
out on my walking paths. I stand now, straight,
again feel able to walk through each gate,
hear melodies of birds, not tuneless din.
An urchin, infant, tiny new one comes,
but rocking, lurching to reality.
Spring doesn’t sing this year, but only hums
a whispered whistle. Can’t we now agree
that birth has finally, finally taken place?
The daffodils and robins do not lie.
Forsythia, like puffs of yellow lace,
tell us to winter we have said goodbye.
Sunless skies, endless
grey clouded over grey crusted
snow, creating havoc for crocus shoots
struggling to make their stand.
Winter, a slow
death by its thousand windy cuts
and imperceptable emotional fade, now
so few words shared between them.
All purple and
orange in full bloom swathed across
front yard lawns stirring expectations, and
memories of their languid summer days.
Teal sky
days that start warm ending warmer,
their uninterrupted steady sun and their
sleeveless shirts and moist sweaty skin.
Sun, her kiss
once assured his unsteady heart. So many
purple and orange reasons to be hopeful but
March, always the cruel reminder.
written March 2013
revised FOR April 2013 :- /
Just one more day to go
Yes February will soon be but a memory
We have broken so many records with our snow
I know I show you pretty pictures but trust me it has been dreary.
As the rains fall hard in our yard today
Birds are eating what I have offered them with added fury
Then I watch as they rush back to their fray
I bet when the sun comes back they too will be in their glory
February has been a lot like winters of past
The snow just kept dumping on us blast after blast
Snowfall records have even been surpassed
I am really amazed with all this snow and ice I did not end up wearing a CAST!
Thank you March for coming along hurry please
I will turn a year older wiser as well I am sure
I am actually looking forward to flowers covered with bees
I guess as I reflect upon these words if it was always spring I would be bored.
JUST ONE MORE DAY TO GO!
Here comes the snow, just very gently now.
I wonder if predictions will come true,
that we will have enough to need the plow.
Six, seven, eight, the inches will accrue,
according to the weatherman. We’ll see.
So far it simply flutters through the air
with no accumulation. I agree
with weather guys, but only sometimes. Dare
I wish for one more covering? This cold
needs snow, a partner in the winter dance.
Please, just enough for memory to hold?
Then we’ll move on and let the spring advance.
Cold.
Once again neglecting
to stoke
the embers
of the fire
within.
Huddled
on the stone hearth,
warmed
by wood’s surrender
I gaze into
the fiery heart
awaiting the confession
of the secret
of flame.
Darkness steals in.
The long night
of winter
cloaks the promise
of spring.
Susan Dean Wessells
Susan Dean Wessells has been writing poetry since ethe age of eight. Her life has been rich with varied experiences which nourish her writing. In 2007 she realized a lifelong dream of being a contestant on the Jeopardy! game show. She is currently writing a novel about vampire nuns.
Another snowy day here in New Hampshire
Here at home.
We didn’t get much but it sure made it look pretty.
Her world
behind the window
cracked and rotted wood
falling flakes of paint
curtain not of any colour
greyish hue
old, no longer pretty
need replacing
her world
behind the window
peering out to the garden
sliding her hand along the grimy glass
that she was once able to see through
clearly, but now cannot
how is her mind
behind the window
casting her eyes on weeds
below that need
removing for they old
no longer cared for
and she asks herself …. why don’t they come to visit anymore
She incubates
it’s winter
and the world
is dim
she conceals
with wool and sheets
of many threads
sheltered.. comforted
she snuggles tightly
escaping winter chills
spiralling outside
beyond her window frame
she wishes she could
quell the snow flakes
that enshrine the green
and brown
blanketed like herself
she listens
the wind roars
between forks of trees
solitude a tranquil time
when winter hits her world
Photographed by Sheryl @ Flowery Prose.
Trees have swollen buds
The hill to the right of our upper gate is where my Perennials sit under snow sending out roots to grow bigger and bigger
Where I will try to make a living fence of Roses and Raspberries. From the stonewall border of cemetery
along this whole hill with southern exposure.
Southeast corner of the yard, along the stream.
Covered in Snow and Ice
One of our male Cardinals through the Lilac and Forsythia
Another beautiful Blue Jay peeking at me too cold to spend the energy to fly away
With temps in the 50′s and 60′s this weekend I may have to go to Maine to detect and walk JT
While in Boston take a spin over here and take a stroll you will love this place of quiet and serene beauty
Peace
Photographed by Sheryl @ Flowery Prose, at the Ann and Sandy Cross Conservation Area, a nature preserve southwest of Calgary, Alberta.
A view of the Canadian Rockies from the Ann and Sandy Cross Conservation Area, a nature preserve southwest of Calgary, Alberta.
Photographed by Sheryl @ Flowery Prose.
