Spring Moon

she is the spring moon,
yet she was the winter’s moon
the blood red killing moon
pouring shadows
over the cadavers of autumns past.
For now she is the moon of spring
and such thoughts of death
are now strangers to her youthful face.

February Ends

cadaverous skies
gaunt and cold between the clouds
mock the coming spring

les perce-neige

the fairest flowers
paint the earth in simple hues
for the briefest time

the daisies open

Noon has come
drawing shadows to their core
and daisies once held in awe
of darkness show their heads
proud to the sun
speckled constellations
each of a thousand stars
yet they tell no fortunes
speak no lies
but are as stars a wonder
under
the midday skies

New Unfinished Spring Stanzas

speak softly to me Springtime
your words upon the sweetest wind
that I may take those whispers
and in them fair poetry find
to seduce from sighing boughs
a verse to bless the trees
speak softly on the breeze Springtime
reveal your songs to me.

speak gently to me April
that in each drop of rain
I hear the sounds of ballads
with fresh ayrs in refrains
that I may from the clouds become
a minstrel of the sky
to play each note of showered muse
into the heaven’s high.

Let Not April End

let not this April end
I can wait on Nightingales
whose songs the May doth send
the music from which summer hails
no, leave me here in April
of silent Blackbirds in the rain
so I may hark upon the stillness
played in brief Spring’s young refrains

la festa di primavera

Vivaldi playing
a fanfare of daffodils
to welcome the spring

Victory

winter retreating
the long slow March to April
and spring’s victory

The Last Snowdrops

they sing not long
their silent song
of winter’s end
in arias of purest white
their heads hang low
and as the snow
are rendered echoes
in the new spring’s light.

Painting Rain

a sorrowful new dawn descends
in rainstorms painted by the night
which in their darkened shades do render
glassy shadows to the light.

no watercoloured dreams are these
its strokes are bold and without guile
and draughted with such cold unease
ill comfort in both form and style.

so paints the rain in this last spring
yet soon an artist young awakes
with pastel palette colours singing
for when summer’s first morning breaks.