Spring Crocus

 

Spring Crocus

 

Blue, the deep blue, of cold

Is inviting, deceivingly so,

With its bedazzling nature

Offering erroneous promises of apricity;

A very inviting vow

of warmth –

That indeed, is more for the soul

Then it is for old hands

Or frigid fingers that no longer

Care, nor dare, for subnivean affairs.

And instead, are satisfied to hold

A hot cup of tea and cherish

The warmth of home (with a large portal)

So, to view the coming breath of Spring

Along with her life’s fevers;

While flying purple banners under a deep blue sky

Exalting rebirth, love and the Spring crocus.

Dimming Lights

 

Those lights –

Those dimming lights

Whispering, knowing

Moving past and beyond the closing horizon;

As silence takes its evening post

Among the pall of the hour.

Can you name that face

That somehow you have forgotten?

 

Have you weighed the depths

Of what has played; what has died

And what will live

Once the sun returns?

 

I seldom go there as much

Since the last prayer was said

At the fire;

where all there is -

Is the fire.

 

And now, the room of ghosts,

Fools and dimming lights -

wait

                   whatever awaits-

 

Those dimming lights…