Saturday, March 9, 2013

Where's my mud? Where's my spring?


Here where the slow light softly falls
on barren ground unstirred by spring
and frost still honeycombs the walls
there is no sound, no moving thing:

not yet the brush of leaf and wing,
nor yet the sturdy, dainty bloom
of  poplars prophesying spring.
Here is no spring, not yet, not soon.

Only the lengthened afternoons
gathering up the winter days
and chilly geese beneath the moon--
winter yet, with winter's ways.


  1. Awesome poem!

    Happy Saturday!


  2. I love the use of imabs, four,
    In quatrains, rhymed (the way you do);
    It makes me long for opened doors
    and fresher air. You know it's true:

    Before too long, the warming blue
    Will turn the roads to mucky mire.
    Then summer's short, and autumn, too;
    then stacking wood to stoke the fire.

  3. Having grown up in South Dakota, I remember this feeling of never-ending winter so well. I recall many times when it would snow in April! That's why I live in Texas now, but I will always miss snow at Christmas time! I wish you warm Spring breezes in the very near future!

  4. ron. you never cease to surprise me and that is a very impressive little poem you done did there. and yeah, winter is always in the future or the past, isnt it.

    Josie, we regularly have a hearty chuckle over the surprise foot deep blizzard in the middle of april. But it seems to be necessary,it feeds the wells, it keeps us busy, and it keeps autumn and spring from banging into each other...

    and Linda, thank you for the kind words. most appreciated