Spring Fling

A slant of light lifts up the night
and tongues of many nations sing.
At early dawn, birds are drawn to flight;
acrobats of open sky with wings.
A chorus of songs, a splendid sight,
from branch to branch, on trees they swing
makes my joyful heart feel just right.
Such chatter, it must be spring fling!

Linking up with poetics: of the road where eights are a bit crazy.

Trapped and Tender


Silky, saucy is spring’s sun.
Filaments of finery strung
by limb and legacy
of spider; serpent in flimsy web.

Transparent tendrils dangle…
long, limp, lineal;
ardent, acute to my keen eye.
Dainty and delicate strains,
as I rock, rock, rock, rock
in longing, stiffing shadows.

There I’m immersed, engrossed,
and trapped in somber mind.
If only my frail sentiments
could reach your enduring heart.

The sun radiates my body’s
shell seeking, yet tarnished
and translucent to only
me and snares of unending webs.

For all those dear children unable to express thoughts through their feeling; like a poet without words. Linking up at dVerse; not really sure if this fits the prompt. I envisioned a mentally challenged child pondering in a springtime hammock; hoping to reach someone.

A Diminutive Brotherhood

There’s a brotherhood in nature;
builds gritty sand castle high,
forages throughout the rocks,
clusters in darken clouds,
spins thin thread across the sky.

A gathering of little creatures
doing grand things in unison;
as notes on a musical score,
numbers tallied on a graph,
alphabet of finished novel.

There’s strength in many;
laboring day and night.
Live in massive families
or solitary abodes of less;
a brotherhood at best.

All manage at their finest;
with wit and wisdom
unlike any skill set.
Four little things of earth…
ant, badger, locust, spider.

“There are four things which are little on the earth,
But they are exceedingly wise:
The ants are a people not strong,
Yet they prepare their food in the summer;
The rock badgers are a feeble folk,
Yet they make their homes in the crags;
The locusts have no king,
Yet they all advance in ranks;
The spider skillfully grasps with its hands,
And it is in kings’ palaces.” Proverbs 30:24-28

Over at dVerse we’re talking brother and brotherhood; I stretched the prompt a bit.

Ways of the Fisher of Men


Upon the sandy shore,
a full sail of wind,
puffed as billows
across a streaked sky.
It was there He met them;
men clammy, drained,
full of failures
past the sandy shores
as the sun painted dawn sky.
Sea, sail, and fisherman…
they became the rhythm of night,
till dawn upon the shore
and sore backs groaned from
What is it about a man
at task, the fisherman, as
numerous as the sands;
to carry on, and on, and on?
Sandy palmed callus
burning thick hands;
tell grand stories of,
The one which got away.
“Children, have you any food?”
As if a man could be a child;
forming sand castles with empty
nets and weary hands. “Cast to
the right… you will find some.”
When did they know who the
silhouette of man was standing
on that sandy shore… waiting?
Yet no one said a word.
Coals burning, heating, cooking…
fish laid, heaped, on glowing embers
and fresh bread; aroma rising up,
up past grains of morning sand.
Sands of time would tell…
of their love and devotion.
Pain would be their end;
filled with complete emotions.
I empty grains of sand
from my shoes;
remnants of sea and shore from
summers gone wondering, waiting,
willing to be served by the
Bread of Life.

Then Jesus declared,
“I am the bread of life.
Whoever comes to me
will never go hungry,
and whoever believes
in me will never be thirsty.
John 6:35

In the spirit of Wallace Stevens, prompt at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, and inspired by John 21 is to what I write.

A Thousand Spring Peepers


My heart dances with
a thousand spring peepers,
As droplets settle deep
upon skin of renewed earth.
Their comforting song
no words can truly tell,
nor poet echo long express,
the music of their mating.
A mirrored image of
tree and sky reflects
off weedy surface; hidden
thick beneath their call
I cannot see, yet hear,
their greedy plea as sun
warms water with a focus;
on a thousand spring peepers.

Taking a short break from writing for children… enjoying my Spring Peeper Pond.


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