Sweet April
 

Cupcake cloud, vanilla sun, sugar song,
Sky o’periwinkle velvet petals,
Floral rainbow sprinkles spring-born spring-long,
Mossy puddles, grassy huddled nettles,
Light ignites marauding pollen afloat,
Wingbeats aloft in Heaven’s treasure chest,
Marathon hearts sow sky as wildest oats,
Dapper in darling feathered Sunday best,
Ambrosia hope Peace’s poppy seed,
Cloud lullabies edges of Change’s decree,
Love’s fair bard unbarred full liberty freed,
Creation resurgent, God so artsy.
Heaven’s recipe a wealth of pulse-health,
Everyday celebrations of Joy’s stealth.
*****

May 14, 2026.

Found in Sweet 'n' Salty Poems, Collection One

 

The sun rose as a hearth-flame shield, above a hammer finished lake-top, water that shone as liquid gold. ‘Twas an expanse of lacy currents as fine as if born of nymph wings, of a wealth of newborn dragonflies. Whence they arose each one shone bright, its metallic green a magic spark, the kind that are ether-seeds to grow, to blossom and be magnified. So too came an ambrosia aroma, a soulful floral promising. In that gentle warming of the keen spring wind, in that icy lessening, was whispered the triumph of temperate days. Flora knew not boundaries, for generous were light and rain. Fauna bounced, frolicked and sang for easier days - halcyon, bucolic - as if a dear old friend finally returned.

December 24, 2025.

 

In the spring air my soul did repose as if butterfly-borne, borne by as many as Brighton beach has stones. The city breeze was a briny-bluster, yet the kind that elevates. The traffic lulled and surged as if caught in gentlest lunar-gravity. Then, as a kindling star, newborn in a nebular, a lyric sparked into life, lighting up my chest, lighting up my heart. My soles pounded the concrete pavement, the streets passed in a blur. To the birds that sung upon my route, the ones I noticed not, apologies! Deep apologies! Yet an idea-galaxy does not wait.

May 4, 2025.

 

Neon bright came spring, unwithered by antiquity's reposing glance. Leap! Frolic! Dance! Old and new 'twas the blossom, evolution with a plastic sheen. Bright colours did pop! Birdsong did tweet-blare! Flowers did give so joyously to soot-mobbed air. One step. Two steps. Three steps, four. Leaving doth arrive. Spring up those stairs with ne'er a glance o' reply.    

January 19, 2025.

 

Petals origami-reverse at light's sweetest entreaty. Spring is here! Fresh butterfly wings expand. Spring is here! Aromas are our elevator music, humblest ambient serenade. Spring is here! Birdsong bursts forth as auditory fireworks. Spring is here! Let limbs ba-boom upon the earth and release the heart for dancing capers!

January 19, 2025.

 

So long had the ground been frozen, pretty yet barren beneath the ice, that we had quite given up on the spring. March became April. April almost became May when the first of many green wands appeared. There they were, a bouquet of smiles, bravely heading up toward the sun.

October 5, 2024.

 

We reclined into the springtime as if she were a beloved armchair, her flowers returning for another season.

February 19, 2023.

 

As the first verse of a favourite song, spring arrived.       

December 21, 2021.

 

Spring awakens with a chatterbox of greens.       

July 17, 2021.

 

The springtime never waits upon the perfect ice-free day, yet pushes forth at first chance for the warming light of day.

September 11, 2020.

 

Spring blossoms open from green carpet to heaven's boughs, revealing their soft hearts within.

September 7, 2020.

 

The spring greets the skin as butterfly wings greet the air, with a gentle uplifting confidence.

May 5, 2020.

 

The spring came with a gentle spirit, as one who realises that warming up softly often brings the best results to the heart and soul.

April 4, 2020.

 

In the spring there are vestiges of winter, yet also the promise of warm summer days ahead.

March 31, 2020.

 

The spring, she comes to give her bounty to all her children, setting the example that we give to one another. She sends her rain and warm wind to kiss the rich brown soils, to waken the seeds and sing to them as they grow. She blesses the skies with more of our winged brethren, from the mighty eagle to the firefly. The flowers come, each one so much more than any photograph, delicate and strong. And in this time of newness we fill our lungs to fullness and hear her urging us to run, to feel the power she gives within.

September 3, 2019.

 

Here we are with the wild flowers rising from the earth, looking to the casual eye as weeds until they bloom. Who pays attention to their chaotic stems that twist in the joy of new life until they wear colours as bold as any festival diva? Then there they are in the air that becomes more welcoming each day, a community of colours, a feast for butterfly and bee.     

March 30, 2019.

 

From the mud come flowers as golden as sunshine, as fluid as rain. They come at first in ones and twos, yet soon they are the most buoyant of crowds, happily dancing in the wind.

May 30, 2018.

 

No more the bare wands that told of winter's magic, here come the green flags, the parade of spring in bright bloom. The chorus of the skies has called forth the promise of the earth and sunshine combined. These weeks will be as a developing photograph - the colours deepening with the richness of the season. The rain will wash warmer over each face, a freshness to open each budding smile.

April 4, 2018.

 

There is a playfulness in nature, in the skies, woodland and soil. The time of plenty is coming and the joy of coming abundance energizes the air. In rain or shine, there is a new warmth, inviting the lips to smile. The greenness of the grass is soon to be echoed by the trees, while the flowers promise their rainbow garland to our Earth.

March 15, 2018.

 

I have never seen blooms that appeared to kiss the sky so boldly as those scarlet tulips. They raised themselves from the earth as if they were some magic trick turning the timid earth into steady and brilliant flames.

March 2, 2019.

 

The early morning sunlight, soft and diffuse, gives way to the first strong rays of the day, the ones that bring true warmth. In this light, water evaporates in slow waves, waves that eddy in the gentle breeze, flowing upward to white-puffed clouds, ships of white in the blue above. The opera from the trees becomes all the more powerful, as if these golden rays are their conductor's wand, and together they are the song that calls forth the spring.

March 5, 2018.

 

A female blackbird hops on the newly defrosted grass, her deep brown legs matching the soil below. She has feathers the colour of every tree, of every wisp of wood that promises life to come. There is something in the way she moves, a joy, as she relishes the season change. The air is cool, but she can feel the promise of warmth within.

March 4, 2018.

 

On the plains there were years in which old man winter refused to give up without a fight. Spring would ride in on a gentle breeze, unhindered by any hill. This April air would soothe the embattled flora with its sweet promise of the warmth to come, only to be pushed back by bitter gales and hail. But the spring was patient, always returning in the calm between each storm and each time expanding until it had ebbed out the frigid blasts entirely. Then for some months it rained down both water and soft heat. Some days could still be a blanket of cloud, like the season passed, but mostly they were sporadic and sparse - allowing the brilliant light to strike the fields unhindered. Soon the fields were not brown at all, but swathes of waving green. Always, we were in an ocean of white, brown, green or gold, but it was the green I liked best - green stretching way up the mountains in the far north and to the blue of the sky in the south.

July 14, 2016.

 

These are the days where there is light under the dark. These are the days where the green grass grows fast through the cracks and there is laughter beneath cloudy skies. The sidewalk may be cold, yet every foot is dry. Even when the night calls street-lamps stand tall, arching over the silvery road, illuminating the way. These are the days when flowers are the jewels of the new season. These are the days we grow strong.

February 25, 2017.

 

On tiptoes I reached up to the window ledge, eyes wide, hoping to see the first shoots of spring. Just yesterday I sat with mama - her, me, mud, newspaper and beans. We made little pots using our hands, the black and white strips becoming something new, something capable of holding new life. Oddly, once the soil was inside they became more stable, like proper pots. We stood them in a tray, added a bean to each and water too. She said to be patient, there is nothing yet, but I know every morning will be the same, standing here on tip toes until they grow tall enough to be planted in our garden.

April 4, 2018.

 

The newest leaves of the holly tree come with full blush at the tips, yet to take on the strong green of their more mature peers.

​

May 5, 2020.