A Bounty of Blessings

The brook
a quiet passion spent
with each new burst of song,
so glad was it for springtime sun,
so glad that winter’s chill was gone.

And I
in my vain foolishness
would claim it for my own,
but a fish with a greater truth
splashed me a welcome to his home.

God’s hand
has wrought such beauty fair
on sky and land and sea,
What He creates is owned by none
We share this season in the sun.

Seeing its Song

Oh, to capture the language
of that violet seen from a window
that is lifted a bit
to let in a touch of Spring.

The lawn’s first green is untrimmed,
unruly in its vigor, now that the winter
has passed or at least
taken pause.

There in the midst of it all,
a violet as bright as a gem,
bruised purple
at the moment of birth

and buffeted by a rowdy
wind. Yet it stands resolute,
upright on a supple stem
that bends rather than breaks.

Isolated by its shape and hue,
this harbinger of summer caught alone
in a cloudburst with frigid intention,
the mercury  fast dropping.

Quietly taking its stand, even in silence
speaking  as surely as any celebrity
espousing their greatest expression,
its life is its message.

When the Birds Are Singing

I don’t want to live this day
as if it were my last, to spend
these minutes trying to make perfect
this life that’s not quite.

And if I did, what would I do?
Get my hair done, buy a new suit?
Maybe cancel  appointments
scheduled for next week?

Would I eat bacon with no fear
of reprisal, then follow the salt
with a sweet,  daring the devil
to show?

Posh and bother! What do I know
about how I would be? I choose to live
this day splendidly, a milestone
on the way to eternity,

unique in the joy of the sun rising
to morning’s bird song symphony,
blessed to be knowing
the One who wrote the tune…

one that  I’ll hear again
and it will still be new.  Aware
there is so much yet to be known
and satisfied

that time has no hold.

Forest Lane at Twilight

When day is over
and night has just begun
the crickets and the bullfrogs
begin their song,

It isn’t very long before
the symphony is joined
by night owls and cicadas and
the sway of grandma’s swing.

The melody of twilight
holds the hum of vagrant winds;
it is more a soothing sigh
than any whisper or demand.

No blinding rage or sorrow
rises above the evening sounds.
Perhaps it is a lullaby
to soothe the daylight’s end

or maybe it is just a hint
of  a greater heaven.

All Things Wild and Wonderful

Today’s breeze is the breath of a warm sun,
Even the mountains wear mica sparked diamonds,
The mind escapes the confines of the cranium,
surmounts all barriers, tops the tall trees
in its freedom.

Everything is new since this morning’s first light;
this is no time for paper roses or wings of wax.
This is a time for flight of fancy to find the innocent
chicanery that keeps us ever young
in spirit.

This is the time to stretch
to touch the sky, to sift warm soil
between the fingers of an ungloved hand,
to smell the sweet perfume of pine
and balsam

and the salty air of the sea.
Neither clock nor calendar has any say
when heaven awakens day with morning’s smile
and all things are wild with the sound
of the sparrow’s song.