A Personal Encounter Between Spring And I

Spring lies dormant, hidden, a baby in womb,

I wonder did she struggle?


Buried in December, deep in winter’s tomb,

Nourished by another, did she struggle?


Breaking through the night with inaudible sound,

I wake to see she survived a struggle


Some beauty short lived I look around,

Now compassionate to those who struggle


I, Cesarean born, lifted gently I’ve found,

It is better to struggle


Spring, you teach me too soon we return to the ground,

Tell me, is it worth the struggle?


My Lord then whispers, for this I was crowned,

The reason I came is for your struggle


I too had a birth, a short span, then a tomb,

But I rose for you and your struggle


Many blooms may fall, yet some last summer long

A time set for each in his struggle


Now I hear Spring’s jubilant song,

Her beauty, the reward of her struggle


dVerse.poetspub.com.  GAY Reiser Cannon, exploring the Ghazal, is asking I struggle through and think deeper to understand this art form. I appreciate her observations and her motivations.

Here is my second attempt to expose my internal, emotional and spiritual connections.






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As Seasons Change


Capturing the beauty before it wilts
As we begin to say goodbye to Spring


Are we paying close attention to its performance
Before it bows and we say goodbye to Spring


Such a short scene tucked between the extremes
Soon we will say goodbye to Spring


It comes late and leaves early
And too soon we must say goodbye to Spring


I look in the mirror and wonder
Did I stop and ever say goodbye to Spring


dVersepoetspub.com. Trying out a Ghazal  and I made myself cry.

All nature photos are my own and the last is yahoo.com

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Are Questions More Valuable Than Answers?

Photo by Unsplash

Poets don’t want answers— they want questions
Resolve may mean there’s no place else to go
Sharp corners and straight edges have a purpose
A whiteout can be frightening in the storm

Photo by Unsplash

What a gift! A mind that takes me reeling
Imaginings are endless escapades
Within this frame of space and limitation
Wings take flight at my own chosen speed

Photo by Unsplash

Without a lighthouse for the seaman’s vessel
Shades of blue turn black and still the night
Waves and wind can overtake the darkness
His journey now an unfamiliar plight

Photo by Pixabay

Wanderings can lead one into insight
Poetic verbose to those who understand
I’m thankful for the Spirit of Christ that guides me
So I don’t fall captive to another’s plan

Photo by Pixabay

Waves of questions slap…keep you buoyant
Oh what a different view from the quay
Watching one trust a sea of open water
Knowing every ray of light prolongs the day

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Deceiving Eyes


He appears at peace

Buried, he seems asleep

Can one be free

Embedded in Earth’s shroud

Does one just wither like leaves

Leaving an imprint in time

Our eyes envision reality

The sun will set — and

Change the setting on the lens


dVersepoetspub.com takes a look at the photography of Mary Frances who takes pictures of things that are not there.  This is one of her photos.



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Blessed With Excess

Strawberries spill over into every taste bud
Magnolia and Cherry blossom drench my eyelids
Thunder pealing across an evening sky lulls me to sleep
Soft sunlight softens my bleached winter skin
The morning whispers fragrance of a leftover rain
Earth shares its riches

Today at dVersepoetspub.com it is Quadrille Monday. The word is rich, or any form of.

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Unquenchable Fire

Astrologers say
I am Sagittarius
A fire that burns
Spreading itself with no invitation
But cannot be constrained
Impulsive, jovial, laughing
I love all
Curious to a fault
I will do anything to figure you out
Giving generously all I have
I love to wander and explore
Seems fitting only Jupiter
The largest planet
Can rule this unruly me
But that is what astrologers say

dVersepoetspub.com is exploring the elements you are made of.

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Listen to the Silence

Rain falls in silence
But I hear and see its presence on which it falls
Resounding to its wet, cold heavy stomps
My metal roof pings in pain
High and forgotten rust comes
Like an open sore, too long ignored
Soft grass squishing beneath my feet
Wringing out the excess
My shoes trample it down
Giving no thought to what it has provided me
Glass windows clouded and smeared
With its dried leftover tears
And waits for someone else to erase
Even silence is a loud voice
That can inhabit every empty space

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