Bonus: Poetry - Sonnet

Nutrition surging up from down below -
She’s coming to from winter’s coma state.
Before she pushes off her quilt of snow,
Sap rises to her twigs to procreate.

I watch her tiny fingers glow and reach;
She’s stretching after waking from her doze.
And when the bursting buds appear on each
It seems that she is putting on her clothes.

Her waking sigh brings to her skin a blush
Of tiny sprouts and blossoms over all,
While pulsing from her core the sap doeth rush
To fill the air with her familiar call.

Seductive goddess, forcing us alive.
Encouraged once again, we dream and thrive.

Another spring, but you’re no longer here.
I watch the hills green up, the trees do too.
These things that brought such joy, no longer dear;
I’m bluer than the sky since I lost you.

I clear the garden of its winter mulch,
Below I find the earliest of sprouts.
I wander down the bank into the gulch,
Where snow-melt flows but does not quell my doubts.

This spring, as luscious as it’s ever been
Tis I who cannot revel in its bloom.
My heart still frozen deep, but from within.
This sunshine does not thaw my mournful gloom.

I’m sure that future springs will bring me bliss.
But I’m still frozen by our final kiss.

The poets of yore called this season sweet
They said that in the spring air, time it flies
But in the Valley’s smoggy, listless heat
Time shrivels into nothingness and dies

Like days when it’s past one hundred degrees?
You’ll love the highs that April has in store
The flowering of jacaranda trees
Will bring yard work and allergens galore

If nice weather you tend to prefer though,
This month may just set you to wondering
If Dante might have based his Inferno
Off the madness that’s L.A. in the spring

We’ve got two seasons here: rainy, and hot
The first is bearable; the other’s not

The ice recedes within the frozen earth.
The thaw begins with stirring from inside,
Leading anxious desires for rebirth.
At winter’s end there is no need to hide.

Below, minute seeds feel an innate urge.
Soothing sensations tingle and caress.
Fresh shoots burst forth; in warmth the buds emerge.
Tight rows of armies marching thunderous.

Eruptions cease, the victors wave and rise,
Such glee contagious as their petals prance.
Clad in dress greens, they yearn to claim their prize.
A just reward, to join the springtime dance.

With medals of sunshine pinned to each chest,
They strain skyward, to reach the final crest.

Upon a branch, within a tree outside
my window sits a Robin laying low,
his grieving eyes: a joy to all who cried
when winter showed its face, but now they know
the leaves begin to grow, some birds chiffchaff
while others warble, blasting dawn with song.
The flower heads induce, with love, a laugh
as red as wine, as blue as skies that throng
above the English lakes outside my door,
where lovers roll upon the banks so green
and children laugh just like they did before
the bitter cold had settled down unseen.
The Robin soars into the blue filled dome,
this vernal joy has sent him flying home.

Though the old man dies, the new child is born
To a world of love, to a world of death.
On the Tigris, the flowers bloom untorn,
While in his bed, asleep, Bahaar's last breath
Is to curse mankind, while praising the earth.
On the Indus, two brothers waging war
Will remove the beauty and means of birth;
Though they'll stop and pray to the springs new bore
Then they'll fall when the wave has surged them past.
And in the silence of a narrow fjord,
The lonely fisherman reeling his cast,
Sees all the beauty the others ignored.
The Spring's rebirth is unique to the year;
By the next rebirth give reason no fear.

sunlight blinding shines white on winter snow
drip by slow drip the season releases
the frozen land from its thick burden'd woe
cold drifts become puddles as warmth increases

maple trees cradle pails of sugr'y sap
boiled and thickened to exquisite sweetness
when poured o'er hot cakes kids (and adults) lap
up each drop to worship Spring's warm goodness

in fields green wheat lifts its head from soft sleep
as yellow crocus blooms 'neath leafless trees
honking skeins of geese 'cross the blue sky creep
ponds are white with a thousand swans at ease

quiet breezes blow warm as Earth's moist breath
bringing this year's life out of last year's death

It is darkness, as we speak, outside my room
And the winter is now falling asleep as dawn,
In its glory and its beauty, trembles a yawn
That awakens the vernal revival of bloom.
With a brushing of green and a touch of blue sky;
With the bursting of petals in yellows and reds;
With the lusting for life we will see in their beds,
From the young to the old, all the grateful ones cry.
At its apex the sun will bless all with its love,
While the winds from the northerly plains, like a wish,
Will be cooling the living while the branches swish
In the shade of their leaves - our protectors above.
And the rivers will glide, and the birds will all sing
As the lovers pass by to the beat of the spring.

A quick, fleeting glimpse of pale, fluid grace,
on a lonely pond, ringed by verdant grove.
Slipping through the rushes without a trace,
a sleek feathered sloop, glides across the cove.

Pausing hesitantly in hushed concern,
hearing forlorn zephyrs as they hover,
for amid its whispers he may discern,
the longed for answered call, of his lover.

But no soft voice is heard from his adored mate,
after winter's end and the distance he's flown,
Only his heart's quiver at his new fate,
to suffer spring's sweet love affair, alone.

Before, hope was doubled, as he sought her.
Now, He's the sole lovely on the water.

The clock goes back an hour and spring is here
In all its green and golden glory, spewing
The white and fluffy clouds with gentle-tear;
Uprooting yellow heads, while cats are mewing
To Nature's Rainbow growing bold each day
Upon the Earth which slept, but now is waking.
With violet buds the garden wants to say,
"This season, made for me, gives without taking;
Its gentle tears, its warmth of breathing air,
Induce in me a love for every creature,
Which finds its form through hands of those who care;
From those, like me, who love the land's new feature."
Yes, spring is here and life is blooming well,
From blues up high to greens within the dell.

In the forest the great wood rises with dawn
And the bushes both bloom with their fragrant buds,
As the pupils dilate, the spring it has drawn
All the virile young chicks, when the river floods.
On the journey upstream, you brave men beware,
Of early departures, or clouds may be seen.
To the beat of a drum you edge to the lair
Where our lives were created, when we were green.
And a single trout gently enters the pool
Which then ripples with life, begins to divide.
From that single trout there is forming a school
That on entry to life just lay there and cried.
The birth of the spring is unheeding to days;
It's eternal and human, known through our ways.

Another spring. Another year without
your holding my shoulder at the fair,
your begging me to keep you in the car,
to stay away from sun and rides and shouts.

Past here, past this lawn, the ground is paved
to make way for those things you never liked:
us, of course, and shops, and games, and bikes
though the forest where our names were engraved.

The trees all look pink from the ferris wheel,
but if you know where to look, you can see
the ashen patches you went at with me.
The stumps and soot, though, have lost their appeal.

How queer, to see the fair and miss your breath,
to see the world alive and think of death.