BUDS OF HOPE

 

 

BUDS OF HOPE

In midst of despair and sorrow
rise buds of hope for the morrow.
Still standing upright and strong
against all that can go wrong.

These are extreme times of confusion and change,
media expanding over a broader range. 
We are attacked by sounds in each direction,
leaving no time for thinking and reflection.

These flowers know what’s real,
they go by what they feel.
Away from the hustle and bustle,
they grow wild without any tussle.

A day to clear my cluttered mind is all I need,
to recharge my battery is what I should heed.
I’ll recharge in a quiet place like this,
a zest for life is what I dearly miss.

IT’S THE SEASON

 

 

IT’S THE SEASON

The petals fall fast and furious.

The bare trees watch the fallen.

Limbs shivering in the coming cold.

Pink tears of surrender coat the ground.

As seasons come and go.

Yearning for their lost children.

They lift scraggly arms to the sky.

Prayers will soon be answered,

As seasons come and go.

Coats of white land on their branches.

Night falling all too soon.

Shivers dislodge the packed ice.

Leaving them bare once again.

They lift weary eyes to the sky.

As seasons come and go.

A warm wind caresses their arms.

Eyes open to sprouting buds.

Green and pink sweaters for spring.

Their children have returned.

As seasons come and go.

 

PUFFS OF PINK FOR ME

The fog yawns long and wide.
Flowers have given up the fight.
There is nowhere to hide
From grey’s terminal blight.
One tree withstands the night,
Growing to immense height.
No one else is in sight
to witness its lone fight.
Grey mist ends the...

 

The fog yawns long and wide.

Flowers have given up the fight.

There is nowhere to hide

From grey’s terminal blight.

 

One tree withstands the night,

Growing to immense height.

No one else is in sight

to witness its lone fight.

 

Grey mist ends the day.

Some color I must see.

Hanging in the grey,

Soft puffs of pink for me.

 

RAIN

Source:

 

Safe and secure.

Beneath the bridge.

Rain splashing free.

Wild on its journey.

Watering the trees.

Filling the grass.

Life for the flowers.

Puddles for the concrete.

A splash.

A spray.

Cold on my face.

Alive.

Surrounding me.

With life.

LET IT BLOOM

Watch it grow.
Watch it bloom.
Pretty rose.
Sweet perfume. 

The beautiful color.
Pink like cotton candy.
Facing the morning sun.
Happy as a dandy.

It is a bud.
When will it bloom
and open wide?
I hope it’s soon.

I’m ready for flowers.
I’m ready for spring.
Eager to see the buds.
Let the spring bells ring.

How about one rose?
The first bloom of the season.
That would be enough.
I think it’s within reason.

THE BEGINNING

 

 

The beginning of an idea

takes root in your mind.

It grows up from the dirt,

reaching out to the unknown.

It grows in size and depth,

and sprouts forth with ideas.

Nurture its buds.

Savor in its fruits.

Delight in its flowers.

Let it grow to full height.