Shake The Trees

napo2017button2

 

Day Twenty-Nine

 

Sky.jpg

 

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.

Patience

napo2017button2

 

Day Twenty-Eight

Snow Tree3.jpg

 

 

In spring flowers are to bloom,
buds to burst with life,
sun to warm ground
awakening that which slumbers.

Here snow aligns itself along
reaching limbs, arcing to ground
in acceptance of something that
cannot be controlled, bending in
accommodation, knowing softness
is cardinal and warmth retraces
its steps.

I pause for season to shift, for
sun or snow to answer. I bow
to you, and rest avowed
in transformation.

 

 

Author’s Note:

A spring snow and Beltane in our lovely and mischievious Colorado is my prompt today.

9 Lines Disparate

napo2017button2

 

Day Nine

Tulip.jpg

 

1.
Overwintered cattails lie down
under spring rain’s cloak.

2.
Ten boxes, three bags, trappings released,
that which no longer serve.

3.
I yearn for open space where
the only music I hear is of bird and beast.

4.
My knee swells and pounds
as I walk with dog, twice daily, regardless.

5.
How many pieces of cloth needed
to cover my nakedness, not highlight my ego?

6.
One red tulip awakens.

7.
There is food in the fridge,
what other is there to feed me?

8.
Why do I need to know the why,
may I reside in knowing it is so.

9.
Not so disparate, really, liberate the old,
not acquire new, just leave pause to grow.

Author’s Note:

Prompt for day nine of NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“Finally, here is our prompt (optional, as always). Because today is the ninth day of NaPoWriMo, I’d like to challenge you to write a nine-line poem. Although the fourteen-line sonnet is often considered the “baseline” form of verse in English, Sir Edmund Spenser wrote The Faerie Queene using a nine-line form of his own devising, and poetry in other languages (French, most particularly) has always taken advantage of nine-line forms. You can find information of various ways of organizing rhyme schemes, meters, etcetera for nine-line works here. And of course, you can always eschew such conventions entirely, and opt to be a free-verse nine-line poet.”

Liberation

napo2017button2

 

Day Four

flower2

Even though branches fell
to blade’s persuasion,
you held tight in puzzled
tangle. Disembodied
from your source,
buds remained imminent.

You waited for liberator’s hands
to disentangle you from your
demise, carry into warmth,
water to ease your thirst.

And you burgeoned as if
there would be no other
outcome entertained.

I look to your gossamer spirit
to know your strength,
feel your will, share your hope
under snow and ice,
trust in spring.

Author’s Note:

Day Four prompt from NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“And now for our prompt (optional, as always). One of the most popular British works of classical music is Edward Elgar’s Enigma Variations. The “enigma” of the title is widely believed to be a hidden melody that is not actually played, but which is tucked somehow into the composition through counterpoint. Today I’d like you to take some inspiration from Elgar and write a poem with a secret – in other words, a poem with a word or idea or line that it isn’t expressing directly. The poem should function as a sort of riddle, but not necessarily a riddle of the “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” variety. You could choose a word, for example, “yellow,” and make everything in the poem something yellow, but never actually allude to their color. Or perhaps you could closely describe a famous physical location or person without ever mentioning what or who it actually is.”

Or not.

 

 

 

Root

napo2017button2

Day Two

 

 

root

Gently it unfolds.
Just before dawn
a sweet call
announces your
return, your nest
in preparation.

Reassured, I mark
his parade. Four small
wheels turning under
aluminum scaffold
bent and formed to catch
his unsteady slant.

Another winter passed and
he remains fundamental
to spring’s element.

From tip of bud
it is not extrinsic
ingredients we fashion
into seasons, but
from root below,
those we do not see.

It is finesse of ancients
who came before to teach
us how to assemble.
Their wisdom of time.
Their refinement
into patience. Their
passion to endure.

This our recipe of
transfiguration.

 

Author’s Note:

Day Two prompt from NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“And last but not least, here is our prompt (as always, optional). Today, I’d like you to write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.”

Arise, a haibun

 

bunny

 

She hid under lush leaves of summer hoping to be lost to the gatherer’s touch. Deep inside she watched as gentle fingers lifted pieces to be housed in safety over winter’s time. And snow came. Cold endured by only the strongest. Rain to quench when dry days lingered too long. Finally, she let herself be noticed as sun grew long and earth made way for new growth. Her journey complete, a jubilant wink greeted her summer friend.

rain feeds earth
spirit grows within
life ascends

 

 

 

napo2017button2

 

 

Author’s Note:

Today is a preview, an Early-Bird Prompt for NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month.

This is a haibun.

What a wonderful start!

Rose Yellow

There is a bush of rose yellow where bloom tightly binds
through first frost protected by bough of
precious crabapple and wall of brick and mortar.

The few last petals cling to stem,
thorns useless for no passerby would pluck
such ragged bud to prove one’s love.

I clear away all that presents itself boldly just for show,
to see your grip as though it’s spring awakening.

Here I am comforted by your gentleness,
emboldened by your sense of strength in your own being,
and conceive that which only you know resides within.