A Spirit of Youth.

Ancient wood, gnarled and bent,
crippled with age and many winters,
beset by lichens,
scarred by wind and weather,
drinks deep from the cool waters
that bring rebirth.

Youth springs out,
sprays of grace and hope
leap over every branch,
wearing white as a promise
that tenderness and fleeting gaiety
will never fail.

A rush of beauty
overwhelms the hedgerows,
a fragile delicacy clings
to the ravages of age,
scattering white drops of renewal
and silent joy.

A Shy Spring

All around me things are moving,
growing, warming, stretching.
Into the cool air and the soft ground
comes a fresh, shy Spring.

Snowdrops shaking, buds breaking.
Daisies quivering, starlings bickering.
Seeds of darkness, returning quietly,
gently, silently, reach for the sun.

In every breath my senses feel the change,
unfurling, seeking, questioning.
Led by the parade of new creation
my slow hopes creep into life.

Cracks of green in trees appearing,
patient daffodils, persevering.
Space to fill and heart to grow
the yearly tide of life will flow.

New wonders and familiar joys,
remembering, rejoicing, regretting.
Each year past Springs that I have seen
grow richer and become one.

Storm surge. January 13th 2017

Do not take me for granted.
Do not presume.
Do not toy with me
for I will take you down.
I will prevail.

Do not think that I am benign
simply because I allow you
to dangle your children’s toes
in a soft summer wave.
My force is waiting to strike
and I will unleash it against you
at a time of my choosing.
I am not your friend.

Hidden in my depths
is the power to destroy.
The power of unconsidered hate.
The flash of resentment
long withheld.
A whip sharp bitterness
hides in the sting of my waves,
lashing out at random,
showering venom.
I do as I please.
I take.
I destroy.

Remember my words
as you parade your folly
in the gentle heat
of a long summer day.
You are there
on borrowed time,
bought by my indulgence.
I am waiting for you.
I will come.