Hope springs eternal
Spring hopes are eternal too
That’s why we garden.
Though deer nibble shoots,
bugs skeletonize leaves and
aphids slurp plant juice,
late frosts breath icy death,
too much rain, or too little,
drown and parch in turn.
Quack grass strangles roots,
the wind sucks the soil dry,
and slugs vandalize.
Northern gardening
has it’s challenges, it’s true
but hope springs, Spring hopes.
#163
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
I
Morning light on snow
My sense of humour fails me
Is it Spring or not?
II
I imagine geese
who just honked in from parts south
shaking their slim heads
III
And the red robin,
perhaps somewhere turning blue.
April morning sigh.
#111
Faint goose honk at edge of hearing,
soft chinook arch crowns the sky.
Wobbly fawn at edge of clearing,
baby coyotes croon and cry.
Redwing blackbird’s liquid chuckle,
rushing water’s roiling ring.
Crow returns with cocky ruckle,
peeper frogs begin to sing.
Pussywillows, silver glowing,
green haze limns the poplar trees.
Hush, child, listen, grass is growing,
Spring is ambushing the Peace.
#93
note: (I live in northern British Columbia, in an area called the Peace. Spring is a trickster here, sometimes you’re not sure if it’s really here until summer!)
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
Spring strips down to bare dirt,
all warm, sunny smiles and promises
of flowers ‘round my door
and the next day huddles under
a thick white parka,
frigid and snarling.
Spring is a tease.
#87
I can hear the new grass growing.
Spring is softly stirring, throwing
off her downy coverlet,
that winter left all thin and wet
I can see the warm wind blowing.
Spring is whispering soft and low and
licking icicles to tears of
joy that trickle free and clear.
I can taste the sunlight tingling.
Spring is gath’ring dead wood, kindling
fires of fresh dreams in my flesh
and songs of starting in my breast.
I can feel the sweetness wafting
Spring is breathing scent aloft in
clouds, low slung with watery vows
that spring is almost here and now.
#77
It’s Groundhog Day in Canada and in the U.S. too
A time to watch the rodent to see what it will do.
Did it see its shadow or did the sun shine bright?
Will it stay and play a while or yawn and say ‘goodnight’?
It is an odd tradition, ground hog prognostications,
So fixed within the hearts and minds of our respective nations.
But up here in the northland we don’t have ground hogs
And if we did, right now they’d all be sleeping just like logs.
They wouldn’t even try to wake and look outside the den
Cause first they’d have to shovel off the snow and ice and then
The sun might still be shining while it’s twenty five below
Perhaps that’s why we have no hogs, perhaps they all got froze.
I’ll tell you this, no matter what prediction your hog brings
Even six more weeks of winter here means a fairly early spring.
#40
Linda Studley 