Boom

 

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She woke to snow. Trees bending low to ground. Naive leaves encrusted with rain frozen into flurry’s handiwork. This would not do. There would be no journey, journey dreamed in hibernation. Her spring pilgrimage of buds unfolding, crow paired, and callow sprouts pushing up through roused earth halted, hooded in drift’s deep sleep. Winter sought one more tarriance. She endured knowing the fledgling interval’s warm breath would sigh again. Soon…

Snow drips from tree limb.
Azure unfolds from behind
grey veil, green booms.

 

 

Author’s Note:

I love the haibun form introduced during NaPoWriMo this year.

The above was sketched out during our “All School Write” this past week when everyone put done what they were doing and wrote for a period. Kindergarteners to the office staff put pencils to paper, pens to journal, fingers to keys and wrote about something that happened to them.

Shake The Trees

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Day Twenty-Nine

 

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I had to shake the trees.

It seemed almost cruel.
Broomstick in hand, under great canopies of new born
leaves frozen within a shell of unforgiving spring snow,
I heaved and hoisted and shook.

It was for their own good.

Fledgling limbs flexed, resilient in their youth.
Rigid arms now hung limp, uncompromising
casualties before my arrival.

I was liberator.

For more stately limbs, older, wiser, seasoned,
they held strong lifting in gratitude as I lightened
their load.

My shoulder hurt, but I persisted in my pursuit of
justice against accidental blow.

…then day itself warmed, a memento
of sun seeped through the gray veil
of my Colorado Beltane sky.

Maybe I didn’t need to play at being champion.
Or maybe I was consort.

I move through days weaving and zagging,
wondering which design is true, proper.

And then I walk myself back. I still myself within,
steel my perplexity and receive.

In the whist calm,
my interior depth,
in the cavern I have
carved out for you,
I attend. I see your spring dawn.

And I begin again.

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Once again, today I take my prompt from an unusaly icy, snowy spring storm on this
before Beltane.

One Hour, Thirteen Minutes

NaPoWriMo Day Fourteen
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One Hour, Thirteen Minutes

One hour, thirteen minutes before this day is done,
a snow, deep and wet, spring’s unwelcome prediction.

My eyes, my back, call to rest under deep blue down
and yet, I am shackled to one hour, thirteen minutes spun

like weaver’s cloth around my ribs, a taut contradiction
to feathered snow, deep and wet, swelling within my limits.

It will not allow me to idle in down deep and blue, a brocade gown
to costume in as I betray the last one hour, thirteen minutes.

.

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Author’s Note:

NaPoWriMo Day 14 Prompt:

“And last but not least, our (optional) prompt! Today’s prompt comes to us from TJ Kearney, who invites us to try a seven-line poem called a san san, which means “three three” in Chinese (It’s also a term of art in the game Go). The san san has some things in common with the tritina, including repetition and rhyme. In particular, the san san repeats, three times, each of three terms or images. The seven lines rhyme in the pattern a-b-c-a-b-d-c-d.”

 

Phew! I didn’t think I’d make it. As I waited for my computer to roll and spin and finally open, I saw the clock. I wondered if I would make today’s deadline.

I wanted to tackle the prompt, but these patterned poems seem to stifle me. Tonight I wouldn’t be persuaded to throw in the towel.

This was fun. And I still have fifty-eight minutes left to post.

 

 

 

A Lover’s Charm

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Snow etched limbs in Spring’s embrace,

Ambrosial jasmine curling up,

One woolen blanket snuggling a pup,

Two hands clasped in lover’s entwine –

Bring peace this day and a jug of wine.

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Author’s Note:

It snowed last night, a good six inches. Aw, spring in Colorado. What more can I say?

Day Three of NaPoWriMo suggested a charm. I’m charmed.

Outside my office window.

Outside my office window.

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Our deck. I didn’t get the pansies planted. Oh, well. It’s Colorado. Tomorrow it will probably be 70 degrees.