Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “leaves”

Finery

Frost feathers on leaves.
A last chance for withered ones
to be beautiful.

# 104

Tree Dreams

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

Orange Nasturtiums

There is something about an orange nasturtium.
Is it the colour,  so piercingly deep and clean
and paint-box perfect?
Or maybe it’s the graceful arcs the stems describe,
like pale green, wrought iron standards.
It could be the plump little buds
with their cheeky wee spurs.
Or the open, honest leaves bouncing
merrily in the slightest breeze.
Perhaps it’s the peppery bite they add to my salad,
and yet the bugs don’t seem to relish them.
Even the seed head is perfectly turned out
in scrolled elegance,  a lined matriarch
proudly bestowing her legacy upon the world.

 

#9

It’s Green Again

It’s green again
and the grey thicket springs to life.
Tall spear shafts that rattled to Winter’s keening
festoon themselves with garlands of green
as they quiver and applaud Spring’s every whisper.

It’s green again
and the parched hard ground thaws.
Icy paving that Winter licked and polished
melts to mould that slakes its thirst with dying snow,
and woos Spring with a flower for every tear shed.

It’s green again
and the longing heart beats faster.
Dark days of Winter’s bullying and blustering
recede into green shivers and the scent of leaf mould,
drown in the sigh of Spring’s embrace.

Masquerade

Shapes shift in the long darkness
of winter’s front porch.
“Is it time yet?” rustle the crisped leaves
as they skitter around and around in anticipation.
“is it time yet?” groan the stark trees,
their gnarled, grasping fingers
clawing the ragged hem of the grey clouds.
“Soon” breathes the drifting snow.
“Soon” chime the falling ice crystals.
“Soon” sighs the gate to the underworld.

Light fades, colours melt, night throws
his velvet blanket,
“Now” the blanket snaps.
“Don your disguises and walk.
The masquerade has begun.”

 

#312

Sun Slants

Sun slants its rays past
vertical blinds in shadows
of bars on my wall.

Sun slants its rays through
prisms and showers rainbows
of light on my face.

Sun slants its rays midst
branches and leaves, dappling
patterns on my skin.

#181

Seasons of Love

Our love sings to my heart
in the trickling chuckle of a redwing blackbird
proclaiming the promise of a dawning spring.

Our love clings to my heart
with the sweet scent of lilacs, nodding, langourous
in the still warmth of a summer garden.

Our love plays on my heart
like a phantom melody at the edge of memory,
and the sound of leaves falling.

Our love cradles my heart
as a layer of snow protects the slumbering lilac,
patiently awaiting the seasons of love.

 

#89

Three Dreams

I
Gritty grains of doubt
Seed my dreams, irritate them
But leave me no pearls
 
II
Dream two steps forward
Through deep moss and piles of leaves
Call in the morning
 
III
Dream of pearls instead
Roll brain grains in lambent light
Polish and repeat

 

#38

Post Navigation