I awoke to the moon,
like a giant, celestial snail creeping
across the night sky,
leaving a sparkling trail of light
in her wake.
Haunting the trees
with silver ghosts
and half forgotten memories
of full moons
and hard stars
and tender hearts.
#105
Frost feathers on leaves.
A last chance for withered ones
to be beautiful.
# 104
In the double paned window
I have two reflections.
existentially speaking, I am beside myself.
#103
Trees dream of summer too.
Of days filled with the laughter of tender leaves
and singing rain.
Alive with the heart beat of hummingbird wings
and the mingled perfume of warm earth,
wild flowers, and ripe berries.
Stripped and slumbering the trees bide, knowing
one day the sun will rise with new warmth,
the wind will have dulled his teeth
from gnawing on ice and snow,
and water will chuckle once more.
But for now, the trees sleep on,
visions of summer yet to be
safe within their rings.
#102
The ending of one thing can signal
the beginning of another and the beginning
of another bodes an eventual end
but maybe there are no beginnings or endings;
maybe they’re really all just middles
that occasionally speed up or slow down a little
to made us think we actually
have some sort of control over things.
We are always in the middle of something,
even if it’s nothing.
#101
Haiku-less I wait
for inspiration to strike.
(place last line here please)
#100
Something is happening.
A beginning where I thought only endings lived.
An awakening from a long troubled sleep.
A quickening of synapses.
It is a moment to be seized,
an opportunity to be exploited
so don’t be surprised
if my goals and attitudes change
course. You are still
my oars and anchor,
my lodestone,
the star by which I steer,
my travelling partner of choice
forever.
#99
Whilst in the throes of zeal and zealotry
a sense of humour is the first casualty.
#98
PS. I said I’d write a poem every day… I never said how long they’d be. 😉
A chipmunk sat outside my window this evening
twitching his tiny tail.
Bright eyed, darting hither and yon
up and down the trail.
Then Stompy the squirrel lands on the roof
his army boots laced up tight
he starts training for a marathon,
and he stays at it all night.
A moose stood outside my window today
munching on willow tips.
Gawky yet graceful he nips and he nibbles
with soft, dark, velvet lips.
Then Stompy stops by and sits in a tree
and lets out a bloodcurdling shriek
a squeaked filibuster of epic proportions
that seems like it lasts a week.
A bear lumbered by my window one day
and peeked in as I peeked out
I jumped and he jumped and we both backed up.
I was too overawed to shout.
Then Stompy the squirrel moved in upstairs
and started to gnaw on the rafters,
scratching and scrabbling all through the night
like he’s digging a hole to hereafter.
So, do I like nature? Well you may ask
I like nature just fine…. Although
If I’m going to maintain my sanity
Stompy the Squirrel’s gotta go!
#97
When the sun rises
aspen skins blush with delight,
basking in the dawn.
#96
Linda Studley 