Humming Up the Road

Gray skies and gray mood--
Which came first? I think I know:
A dear dream has crashed.

 

Forsythia shines;
Birds continue to flutter--
They pick seeds and go.

 

 Faint whiff of green grass
And I am walking to school
So long, long  ago.

 

Trunk full of machines;
Woodstock Highway Department,
A magician's chest.

 

Back and forth it goes,
Forcing the dark tar downwards,
Patching up the road.

 

There's no more silence;
Trucks and machines reign throughout--
Yerry Hill Spring Clean!

 

 The first daffodils
Poke their trumpet head stems
Into gray morning.

 

    

Humming up the road--
Not the voice of a singer
But blowing machine.

My BB Gun is Restless

The birds are all out--
Chickadee perched on the edge
Takes in the sunshine. 

Where are all the squirrels?
My BB gun is restless.
I want to plunk one.

 

Olivia turns,
Scratches herself with her horn.
(Looks pleasurable).

 

 Shadow of the weeds
Lie upon the gray pavement--
Just two dimensions.

 

Slender green fingers
Wave gently in the soft breeze:
Spring chives are growing.

 

 

Just a few cloud puffs
Float through the placid blue sky
This bright Spring morning.

 

 

 First dandelions
Spread out the rays of their suns--
Illumination!

These bright blue flowers
Did not appear yesterday.
Now they own the place!

 

Silent Clarions

It snowed yesterday;
Today more flakes are falling--
Second month of Spring.

Forsythia bloom--
Snow flakes dance around yellow;
A strange winter palette.

Forsythia blooms
Hang like pregnant yellow pods
Or reach to the sky.

 

The angry dark clouds
Closing their determined mouths
Swallow up the sun.

 Heading for the ground
Street sign looks ready to drop--
Winter exhaustion.

Green community
Perched at the edge of the road
Ignores the snow flakes.

Piercing tiny suns
Spring up from the dark brown earth:
Silent clarions

Sun breaks through the clouds
Flooding the earth with shadows--
Power of contrast.

Be Aware Below!

Coffee roaster roars
Making morning wake up smells--
Outside-gray sunlight.

 

 

The porch flower pot
Is full of Spring surprises:
Miniature forest.

 

Between the trash cans
A sprinkling of pine cones:
Evergreen garbage.

As Spring continues
Queen Anne's husk waves in the wind--
Proud old lady.

Central Hudson man
Makes his unpopular stops
In the dead of morn.

Where have the bears gone?
They never come to visit.
(I can only hope.)

Seeming nonchalant
Hawk floats slowly in the sky.
Be aware below!

On the bare tree trunk
A small forest is growing--
The moss has a home.

Spring and Winter Meet

Sunlit waving trees;
Wind chimes push their melodies
Down the dappled road.

Old strawberries bring
The faint taste of yesterday--
Of a sun that's set.
 

 Swift streams in the woods
Gather in the morning sun,
Joining together.

Brisk wind up the road
Slams me sharply in my face,
Then caresses it.

White rippling clouds
Shine in the instant pond--
As above-below.

Almost no snow now;
Shadows fall on naked road;
Tall trees sway softly.

Filling with water,
Stream bed picks up where it left--
Joining its sisters.

Old dead mother stump
Covered with moss and small plants
Brings forth life again.

Two crows in the tree
Rest a while from their cries,
Still as black statues.

Some snow banks remain,
More gray in their countenance
Than white memories.

Without a burble
Road side stream wends its way down
From an unknown source.

Dead leaves in water;
Evergreen branch now turned brown;
Spring and winter meet.