Impending Bloom

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot
and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light
and winter in the shade.  Charles Dickens

The lion leads,  all bluster and roar
behind bared fangs.
From somewhere  a warm breeze
too playful to be afraid
rubs the tummy  of the wild beast
and before you know it

lion-turned-lamb  gambols over the lea
scattering sun rays.
Even in the shade  we see summer.
Awed by Spring
we emerge,
with great expectations.

The Lady with the Lamp

In the absence of home
they are here
with hope in their hearts,
their hearts on their sleeves.

The Lady with the Lamp
welcomes them.  Far
from the reach of her light
they dream of touching her hem.

They dream…

They are the tired, the poor,
the huddled masses. I ask you
Who among us would deny them
these promises?

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-
tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Stars in Her Hair ~ for Janis Joplin

The Daily Texan ran a profile of her in the issue dated July 27, 1962 headlined “She Dares To Be Different.” The article began, “She goes barefooted when she feels like it, wears Levi’s to class because they’re more comfortable, and carries her Autoharp with her everywhere she goes so that in case she gets the urge to break into song it will be handy. Her name is Janis Joplin.”

Long curls tangled in abandon,
she raced barefoot through the fields
picking wildflowers for the table,
berries for cobblers, or just gathering
sun rays to feed the freckles
sprinkled over her nose.

She wove chains of daisies
and wore them in her hair,
but that was in the summer. Months
of sun slip by; innocence is lost
in little things. The beautiful
blue sky

and there a hawk and there
a sparrow. Her face tilted, worshiping
the sun. She saw the feathers falling,
and something like a chill wind
said this is living
and this is dying.

She wove her daisy chains
until winter spent the wildflowers
with its will. She was too young
to know that spring would come
and they would bloom again,
so she caught the stars

at midnight and wore them in her hair
though no one saw them…Just her
and the moon streaming in the window.
Alone there with songs to sing
and dreams to dream, she must have thought
this is living — and this is dying.