Maybe I Shouldn't Have Splashed

Playing in the rain
             again.
Spl      ing,
   \   /
    ash
             dancing,
trying to find
the small kernel of truth
that lies at the bottom
of a puddle.
Spl      ing,
   \   /
    ash
              again,
spraying
passers-by
who hurry on past
for fear
I may contaminate them
with hope.

After the Rain

Ten drops of rain remain on my window.
Each reflecting a world I cannot see.
Tiny details of life, now refracted
warped, then twisted and turned to fit the curves.

I think I spot the daffodils in bloom,
flavescent yellow under bluing skies.
My daughter's red wagon, wheels distorted.
A silver maple, begining to bloom.

Spring designs stencils for Summer to fill.
Painting them, first with rain, then with color.

Like a Sunrise

I am eating color for breakfast.
Ripe yellow and blood orange.
Coffee, caramel colored
as it pours
          from
               the
                  carafe
turns muddy brown in my mug.
Brilliant white cream
spills
and ca
       s
         ca
            des
down the cabinet
to earth colored rugs
where it pools
and reflects
the first gold
of day.

*In response to Poetic Asides Day 18

Snapshot of my Daughter

The contrast
between her tie-dyed dress
and the gray sky
is almost enough
to make me think
the world is over-exposed.
Pink, striped socks
with ladybugs
crawling toward
the bruises on her shins.
Her proud collection,
hard earned
through tears
and perseverance.
Her eyes,
changing with the weather,
seem blue today
but green will show
with the sun,
if the sun should choose
to compete,
knowing it is
overmatched.

The History of Light

Reflected light
paints a window on my wall
but it is only an illusion.
Stepping forward, I look,
and time wavers so I can see--
This house
before it tragically became
yet another office building.
When it housed life
and family.
Back when gas lights burned
and horse drawn wagons delivered ice.
History is evident in the cracks
if you open your eyes
when a window presents
an opportunity.

*In response to Three Word Wednesday

And now for something completely different

Because one can never have too many blogs, I now have a new one focusing on my Young Adult writing. If you are interested, check it out --> Fostersberg

Two for Tuesday

Today is two for Tuesday over at Poetic Asides. While the prompt asks for a form and an anti-form effort, I have two form poems.

"Damn Spring"
(A Shadorma)

coldest winds
blow strong on spring days
when the sun
has shown through
and warmed the ground, the soil
before retreating.

"Tanka to Nancy Posey"

cold spring days confuse
spring with her cousin, autumn.
mown grass on cold winds
trigger thoughts of golden leaves
and warm cider, waiting, home.