It’s that day when the sun comes out
and melts the skiff of snow into muddy
puddles and the sky is that soft shade
of blue and you can’t remember
whether it’s late fall or
early spring.
That’s when you catch a fleeting glimpse
of why calendars are such
stupid things.
#117
Downhill ruts that trap
Our wheels, sliding life into
well worn mud puddles.
We don’t have to stay
in the mud any longer
than necessary.
Habits are the ruts
But we are the ones driving.
It’s time to chain up.
#86
Thirsty paper swells.
Pigment irrigates the nubby surface,
depositing brilliant silt;
fertile soil on the banks of the Nile.
Gems bloom at the end
of squirrel hair brooms
that swish and sweep the bubbles of colour into trees
and rivers, and cloud speckled skies.
But beware the heavy hands of gravity,
clawing the sparkling rivulets
into muddy puddles
at the bottom of the stillness.
#14
Life is like a watercolour painting;
lots of pretty colours to play with
but work it too hard and you get mud.
Mud is like love;
soft and fun to play in
but it’s slippery and tends to leave stains.
Stains are like road maps;
clues to who or what we’ve been
but sometimes they smother beauty.
Beauty is like a watercolour;
glowing and capricious
but only a reflection of life.
#137
Spring has sprung the winter pris’ner
from winter’s frigid jail cell. Isn’er
green a sweet refreshing shift
from white on white on…you get the drift.
Spring springs forth in crocus cups
and people have more giddy up
to go and tidy up their lawn
(where, winter long, the dogs have gone)
Spring’s outpourings lie in puddles,
drowning worms, the vernal flood’ll
trickle creepsily into basements
Measuring stuff with displacement.
Spring is full of fits and starts
that gladden and sadden and gladden your heart.
you’re so confused that in the end
Even squelchy mud seems like a friend,
a harbinger of things to come
like hammock time and maybe some
perfect days when sun and breeze are
in perfect balance and the freezer’s
full of fudgicles and T-bone steaks
for barbeques beside the lake.
Yes Spring has sprung and all we hankered for.
We’ll enjoy and prob’ly never thank her for.
#120
My CD "New Traditions" is available for listening or digital download
My CD "Breathe" is available to listen to or for digital download
Linda Studley is a writer, songwriter, independent recording artist, and sometime graphic artist living in Northern BC, Canada
Linda Studley 