Whisper A Pink Amen

Wordcandy May

Whisper A Pink Amen

Though it snows in the west and rains in the east, may I dance

Though Spring crawls, baby steps this way, these days, may we sing

With the grey shadowing pinks and the clouds hiding  hope, may we still rejoice

Still, the season hides her beauty timid as a dove, may I trust

Though the memory of past joy overshadows pregnant possibilities, may I know

That light will burn bright hope around the edges of the dark

Through all the seasons, for forever

Glory, glory,  Hallelujah, whisper soft a pink and tender


a song of certainty.


Joining Tweetspeak Poetry and Wordcandy.me and 100 sweet bloggers with a wordcandy writing prompt for the lovely month of May. This one from Lyla Lindquist is exquisite. But maybe that’s just me.

April, Fool

house camelias

Dogwood blossoms bounce on twig ends
Like lace doilies doing a jig aboard a Charleston green joggling
With the cold and old dead leaves
Bouncing up and down outside
The window still wears winter
While acorns dive bomb the roof like Japanese fighter
Pilots pelting the earth, releasing the heavy artillery on
Pearl Harbor’s ships
Floating unknowing, waiting for the unforeseen
All of this bouncing in the wind
Like a lost line from a Dylan ballad
As if some long awaited answer to a question asked in the 1960’s
Will come landing in the yard blowing in on the next flight
On the tail of the windswept tumbleweeds, dried leaves
Of remnant winter winds
The earth is stuck in between a gear shift
Winter to spring like a sixteen year old driving
Grinding, the transition is that of a novice
Grating from, to without well-oiled perfection
Shifting not smoothly from one to the other

No the cold wind still whirls like a flushed toilet bowl cyclone
As a frozen and confused squirrel with an acorn the size of a grapefruit
Stares his cold stare straight through the dirty window
And asks with his eyes
Is there room in the inn it is cold and wintry here in the yard
Blackbirds serenade a shrill birdsong, trilling as if gargling,
The sound a constant attempt at announcing spring
Their overhead conversations sound like an underwater melody
Muddled and muted
Like these early spring days
The tempting temperatures dip and dive
Then rise, like a flirty girl raising her skirt
Then dropping it down again just as we warmed
To the thought
Of Spring
It mocks a bit in its procrastinating
Giving us hot flashes, then cold
Like a menopausal woman
The earth drags along
Forgetting to turn the page to the next
We are stuck in the inbetween
As the boinging sound on tinned  roof clamors from raining down
Deadwood and nuts
Keeps syncopated rhythmic time to the symphony of songbirds
Serenading the hot pink garish blossoms of the Azalea bush
Excuse them, they no not what they do
Rushing the season and  loudly overdressed
Their gay pink frocks
Make us cry out a little louder
Buried and weary
Worn out by winter’s wiley ways

Yet the dogwoods sway and swing keeping time to the earth’s broken timepiece
Tocking when it should be ticking
Ticking when we thought we had arrived a tocking
A cruel game of wait and see
What April Fools are we


Joining tweetspeak poetry book club, Poemcrazy, by Susan G. Wooldridge


Airing Out The Soul


Airing Out The Soul

The first warm breeze
It thaws the crusty lingering on
The hangers on of a deep winter of
A soul
Ice  cold  frozen tundra patches, folded over, held over,
Hidden in their fear and trembling
All the working parts and pieces
Leaves them high and dry, ice cold
In desperate need of a team of doctors
Remove the dead, breathe new life
Send them out regenerated, heavy with hope
Surgically implanted
Cleaning crews called in to raise the broom
Do some heaving lifting
Break down the  corner cobb webs
Lower the boom
Hang those blooming hanging pots
Make it look like Spring, feign a vain attempt
Extract every dust bunny, grab them by the tail
Send them packing
The temple needs the tables turned over
And over again

Re-arrange the furniture
And redecorate the soul

Start by cracking a window

Air out the smell of death

Grab a rag which smells of Pledge

And promise

Throw open the portals to the merciful new

And breathe a breath of birth


Joining the team at Tweetspeak Poetry today with a Billy Collins prompt. We are spreading some wordcandy sweetness around this Eastertime. Visit wordcandy.me and dip into their box of goodies. You will fill your sweet meeter to the rim with all the offerings. The newest are the freshest for spring.