Ode To Home On The Occasion Of The Possibility of Spring’s Arrival

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Ode To Home On The Occasion Of The Possiblity of Spring’s Arrival

You have been a strong and faithful sanctuary
A well wrought port in a storm of endless
Winter polar vortices
Iron maiden made of brick and mortar
Oh yet so much more
Boldly you braced me from the wicked winter winds
Is that now in our past
Is Spring preparing us for windows open
Windex polished and shined for her new day
Reflecting your joy and mine
Like a pair of Easter white patent leather
Mary Jane’s, shiny and new
Party ready to spin and twirl and dance with
Delight in Spring’s New Light
Of Day and Day Light Savings Time

Could it be that in this year of a winter that appears
To you as bully, thief and trouble maker, pot-stirrer and
Rebel rouser
We will have a set change, a character change and a scene change soon
Oh home you and I might live to see another Spring
What color shall be plant the window boxes, bright and gay
I say Pink, you say Red
Geraniums, on that we can agree

How will be celebrate the possibility of Spring’s arrival

You, my home desire the fatted calf killed
And the silver polished
And a fresh coat of paint somewhere on your trim
You are a surviver and a hanger-oner
You took your knocks and rode out the cold
Stood head up, chin up, shoulders back

Fearless are you
Let the seasons change
And let us dress you in all your finery
And regalia
Your day has come to feel the breath of Spring
Blow across your red brick cheek
Spring is here, almost
Hold on tight, hold your breath, hold on to hope
We have nothing to fear but fear itself
Well that and that this could be the first year we skip
Spring altogether and go straight to Summer

But we, dear home
Are optimists
And we shall count on Spring
The Weber Grill and charcoal
Have waited long enough

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This poem is written in response to my friends at Tweetspeak Poetry and their prompt Ode To Home”

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The Day Spring Almost Tied The Knot

wpid-IMG_20130814_190058.jpgThe Day Spring Almost Tied The Knot

The Earth just opened her new box, waxy smells wafting out, tips sharpened
Virgin points, aiming toward heaven
Like instruments of praise
Whittled odes of rejoicing
Wrapped in slick paper

Names like that of the new season’s OPI
Nail polish
So perfectly given
One cannot tell if the name made the color
Or the color birthed the name
And which, do tell came first
In any event
It is a birthing of new
And to her surprise
As she opened the box
With the ity bity black hole in the back
Low and centered
Round and welcoming
For sharpening, when tools become dull and spent

The whole box was 64 shades
Of green
And creams
Dual monochromatic offerings
For coloring the Earth in her
New garb
For shading the world
In new birth

The world was once again
Awash
In the hues of greeney new birth
Of shoots and leaves
Grasses and stems
Trumpets of new flora and fauna
Vines pressed through the layer
Of dark and dank

She closed the box
Hoarded and saved
This school-bus-yellow
New box of crayons
Perhaps it would be needed
On another day, Winter the tyrant
Has never played fair
Deliverer of death and dark
Cold and fear
Lights off
Lights back on
Mysteriously, again

Unsure, uncertain
And truly afraid
That this was a prelude, precursor
Preamble, only
To Spring

Her box of creams and greens
It may be needed again
To color the world
Brightly resplendent indeed
One day soon

But of one thing she was certain
With no doubt at all
The Earth was her loveliest
When dressed as a bride

Approaching the altar
Both timid and brave
Head bowed in her virginal
Expectant state, behind a thin veil
Of cream lace

She wore a gown of 1950’s Virginal White
And carried a bouquet of  The Grinch Stole Christmas Greens
Loose greens, free and just garden picked

Closing  the box this March Monday
She determined to
Wait patiently for
The Real “true” Spring
Spring Green to arrive
Followed by Pea Soup Green
And Grass Through Your Toes Green
And her favorite, Pistachio Ice Cream Green
Or was it Thin Mint Green

So she closed the lid
And placed her new box of Crayola’s
On the tippy top shelf

And waited patiently
For the bride of Spring

While painting her toenails
Moss At The Base Of The Pine Tree
Green
For the big event

The Sun Unleashed

wpid-IMG_20140203_110600.jpgThe Sun Unleashed

The sun unleashed its radiant heat
Reminding me  it was still there,
Still very much alive
A diamond gilded tiara worn by her, proudly from on high
The crown of glory beams from her home
A cerulean azure sky
Though every shade and hue of gold
Is cast down from above
There remains residual cold
From a time not that long ago
And just because the sun may shine
I cannot find my way
Just yet
For I am stalled and stuck
And a little left behind

Still lingering in  a winter of the soul.

But I am hopeful
And aware of grace
They never left
Neither of these two
Both mercifully
Remain, a blanket, a covering
Attend me even now
And patiently they wait for me
Call me to come out and play

They’ve gone ahead to melt the ice and snow
And promise to return
To warm my heart one day
Thaw out
These places that remain
Frozen

A little dark and cold

The sun unleashed
Its power today
And I know Hope will lead me
Into Spring
Where new life regenerates
Erupts, painting everything in every hue and shade of green
And we’ll forget
The cold and dark
No memory of this season
We’ll leave it all behind

And thank the unleashed lioness
The day the wild and fiercely glorious
Sun, she could not
Not shine.

Perhaps

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Perhaps it is the jasmine
The lightening flash of long lean rabbit in the garden where the labyrinth winds for prayer
Or maybe it’s the baring of our flesh
Release of layers, fleece and sweater, flannels,
Covering for a dark and weary soul.

Perhaps it is the dip of toes and body in the sea
Or maybe it’s the sharp knife blade
Cutting deep into the red of berries ripe and ready
Sweet dripping over beds of salad greens.

Perhaps it is your skin turned tan, brown as a berry, momma used to say,
Touched by the sun of  longer days
Or maybe it’s just the way we breathe, finally and fully,
Filling lungs full of just mowed grass, sweet green air.

And perhaps it’s on the way out,
When really she just arrived.
Teasing us with what is fragile
Precious worth a long deep sip, of what she carries  in on beams of moon.

I pick the purple hydranga, her mix of lavenders and greens,
Place it in the window where the light illuminates her glory.
And think

Perhaps this Spring will be my favorite one of all, the best of fifty three.

And secrets are for keeping, but some
Should also be shared.

There was something in this one
That  wrapped me in her fingers, held me tight and close
Before the sweet release toward Summer
Captured all of my senses, held them gently hostage
Then, kissed me softly on my cheek before the sad goodbye.

The hand of Spring has held me.

Perhaps, that is all I know.

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Joining Tweetspeak Poetry for Wordcandy. Photo Credit: Tina Howard

And Sandra Heska King for Still Saturday