Noisy Neighbors

At

bedtime

I hear coyotes

through the open window,

whooping it up

like frat boys

In the morning

a chaos of chirping

migrates into my dreams

until I wake

to the

final stars

winking goodbye

First night of springtime,

sleeping with

the windows open

Day #14 PAD, just a wee bit late.

On Easter

     Photo by Mary Bach

This morning the moon  

begins to wane

in the lightening sky.

Mourning doves call to

you, you, you

but jays and wrens and barn swallows

are chirping too.

Outside the window

there are ten thousand branches, more

that were dead,

now, near bursting

with a million, million buds.

Don’t tell me there are no miracles.

Thank you for the prompt of a 55 word piece, and the subject of Easter in the Imaginary Garden with Flash 55 Plus.  This is also for Day #5 of PAD.  Happy Easter or Sunday or whatever you are celebrating today.

Flora Christo

    Image by Mary Bach
    
    Leaf, stem, branch -
    everyday resurrection.

April

Lightning breaks the night

I hear the pieces crumble,

the first storm of spring

    Image: en.wikipedia.org

Just a quickie today.  I was helping my daughter move today, all day, in the rain.  Then tonight after a bath a ibuprophen, while racking my brains for something to write about inspiration strikes, in the form of lightening.

Spring?

This is a poem I wrote awhile ago, about Wisconsin weather in March. This year though, spring is late and we have been getting some typical March weather in

April

She teases us with glimpses of spring,
toying with our affections;
one day all sunshine smiles
the next, throwing a snowy snit;
or she can be mysterious,
shrouding herself in fog.
buds and grasses green
at times in spite of her.

We see the sins winter has hidden
now laid bare before us:
November’s leavings,
with the flotsam and jetsam
of our own humanity.
the first flies buzz, sun-drunk
reminding us there are advantages
to the dead time.

The frozen ground softens.
a few brave Snowdrops
shoulder their way through;
resurrection is hard work.