In the wheel of Earth’s years
we watch as Autumn’s clock
Tick-tocks in tiny goldenrod
September petal’d seconds
Frosty trees bleed scarlet hours
through veins of October leaves
Amber minutes wither and fall
drifting in November’s breeze
And the silent strike of midwinter
turns December’s snowflake gears
i don’t want to be
just a strand of dna
passing through time
or an echo of a face
repeated down the line
just another leaf falling
from the family tree
a bloodline that someday
ends with the end of me —
i want to be the sky
or an eternal poem
wildflowers growing
wherever seeds roam
i want to be the wind
or wandering clouds
or the rain that drifts
or a free soaring bird
or starshine at night —
eternity’s glowing
ethereal light
Spring is so damn pink!
O yes, it’s vibrantly green
and greenly vibrant too—
reds burst, oranges blaze
yellows beam like the sun
violet dazzles vivid delight
blue paints the entire sky—
but the thing that thrills
my soul the most is that
Spring is so damn pink!
minutes bloom
hours flower
seconds vine
through the hands
of time —
days hustle
weeks speed
decades scatter
in confetti’d years
Winter is a lean, scrappy fighter. Spring blossoms from the sweat
Springtime is a poet —
the blue sky its blank page
so vibrant green in rhyme
a different metre for every clime
birds chirping to keep the time
wildflowers yellow, red, purple divine
words dancing on tall blades of grasses
sparkling in the morning dews
no commas the flow keeps buzzing
vernal dashes & blossoming branches
on newly greening verdant trees
refrains whispering in each breeze
butterflies — floating apostrophes
ladybugs dot floral question marks
blissful bees stray stanza to stanza
seeds disperse from verse to verse
continuing a poem that’s never ended
and into summer’s colors is blended
Dawn spreads her wispy pink angel wings over the morning.
Spring is the green
is the peace
is the breeze
and the blossoms
and the blues
past the buds
to the pinks
on the brink
and the warmth
and the warbles
and the weeds
all the yellows
and the bees
and the buzzing
living branches
and the grasses
and the gardens
and the growing
and the blowing
of the pollens
oh! the purples
and the chirples
of the birds
and the beauty
and the butterflies
in the skies
and the sun—
Springtime’s fun!
The color of springtime is in the flowers; the color of winter is in the imagination.
P.S. Thanks so much to everyone who let me know about USA Today and King Features Syndicate using this quote for their “Cryptoquote” on December 3rd. That’s pretty cool! They actually left out a small portion and quoted it as “The color of springtime is flowers; the color of winter is in the imagination.” —tg, 2022
Time doesn’t tick
it doesn’t tock —
it flows relentless
it is we who chop
its water with our oars
Birdsong: a branch of music.
Spring: the music of open windows.
icicles are daggers of beauty
thrown by winter’s sunshine breath