The Anticipation of Spring

O this grey day of springtime’s early cheer,
As winters remnant, lingers low hung cloud.
With better days ahead in blue skies clear,
Where bitter discontent is not allowed.
What will the sunny seasons bring this year?
It has the power to make the humble proud.
A sea of yellow, washed across the field,
When Natures beauty wakes, with all revealed.

So slowly slowly, lifts the veil of mist,
Once blanketing the view from naked eyes.
The wilding flow’rs with crowns of amethyst,
Reflect the birth of spring in changing skies.
But winter still had one more little twist.
A show which rolled along, with some surprise.
A static arc of light; a thunderstorm,
As cooler climates slowly start to warm.

O blessèd are the little lambs, newborn,
The fledgling sparrow, raven and the dove.
Young bobby calves, and sheep yet to be shorn,
All find their place directed from above.
Indeed this season has no place for scorn,
As springtime always nurtures first sweet love.
So birds and bees all do their thing in spring,
They find their voices as they sweetly sing

So now expectantly we sit and wait,
For all that we would have the summer be.
Intrinsic’ly aligned with sunshine’s fate,
Upon our skin we seek its rays for free.
But melanoma causes such debate,
Now is this really what I want for me?
Each season is in turn from heaven sent,
The jonquil blooms through winters last lament.

© Garry Spooner
September 2017

Color Me

O’r craggy cliffs where edges fall away,
 To feel the earth give way neath running feet,
See colors fade from Nature’s mean display,
 As tears of sunset fall to day deplete
And mingle with unfeeling pallid greys
 Before the dark of night, horizons meet.
The spirit yaws to hear a sorrowed call,
But mindful of propensity to fall.

The rainbow colors painted in the skies,
 Refracting feelings of those bygone years
To paint a person’s soul within their eyes
 Reflecting personality through fears
And tempt to drown the pain and hurtful lies,
 That hope returns and suffering disappears.
These colors run to imitate the white
Of stars that grace the velvet skies at night.

The canvas of the mind with colors blurred,
 As brushes, color-tipped with empathy,
Move in a way to illustrate preferred
 And pleasing notions of a memory,
That contemplates the meaning once inferred
 As truth. A shallow hint of destiny.
The palette bright with colors seldom used,
The wonder, why the waste; somewhat bemused.

The drop that falls, a teary colored splash,
 That runs the length of jagged edges cruel,
Through brambles with their thorns that pull and slash
 Like hands that try to snatch the artist’s tool
In anger as emotions kick and thrash
 Gainst all that laughs and mocks us as the fool.
The footprints like the brush can firmly place
A gift of color or in dark, displace.

But listen, in the distance is a voice
 That knows your name and tries to call to you
In strong but sweetened tones; You have a choice!
 And somehow it’s the voice you always knew
That warms the heart, a yearning to rejoice
 And change directions, paths you would pursue.
We lack the strength and courage to belong,
Until the one who’s right has come along.

To fall and then be caught so never strike,
 Or feel the pain of loneliness again,
To be with one and never sense dislike
 For who you are and never feel the drain
Of life’s cruel burdens, something quite unlike
 The way you’ve felt for years or dared complain.
In colors bright, your masterpiece complete
And never fear the edge beneath your feet.
 
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2016
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