Persephone basks

bradford-inn.jpg
Its warm,
an uncommon day in November,
the sun seeps honey and languorous
across the deep autumn landscape.

Trees fold inward, their somber winter
slumbers await.
Birds chitter and sing as if a spring day
while small furred creatures busy themselves
with the important matters of survival
and hunger.

Ice begins tonight.

Persephone basks
for one more day.

what is a wristwatch to an oak tree

oak tassels

The sun is rising farther to the south
inching each day to the true east
to the equinox.
Gnomon,
the one who knows,
his shadow casts the lengthening light across
the figured stylus
away from numbers and chimes
but into nature’s time.

Time is not linear
but round,
a spiraling cycle of sun and moon.
Persephone’s choice
of resurrection and renewal,
rising from the withered vine
to abundant grape and glory
only to wither again.
Modern time is only a construct of conceit-
man controlling his minutes and hours
each tied to his wrist
or tucked into his vest pocket
to be worshiped
or rebuffed
or excoriated
until his final breath.
But the old oaks stand,
unhurried by the numbers and chimes,
moved only by the moon’s tides
and the sun’s chariot travels
from light into light into light.

(revision)

counting the days until spring

Spring Garden b 2013
counting the days until spring

Antsy,
she couldn’t stay still.
Pacing wall to wall,
she could almost smell the damp earth
under the frozen crust
as the sound of sleet
echoed against the fossil dimpled stone.
Her thoughts drifted to warm dawns
filled with perfume of sweet grass
and whining of midges-
her breath quickened
with the rising sap
tapped deep under the winters crust.
She could hear green things
begin to stir,
bulbs burgeoning with embryonic april.
A blush rose from her breasts
to pink her cheeks,
leaving her face glistening
with the heat of june afternoons.
A carpet of green followed in her footsteps
as chamomile and bluets
bloomed in her wake.
Climbing with each change of shadow,
anticipation springing from the tilted axis,
she rushed to greet the vernal wood
in rapture of spring.

Persephone’s Song

Persephone’s  Song

Dance dance dance with me and warm our cold cold hearts,
Spring is here and it is the time of year for renewal and fresh starts.
Settling in, the south wind exclaims the bitter chill-
Faces chapped and bruised with cold, refuse to deny the thrill.
Winter once flung, flees and recedes into northern climes,
Soft sun with tender skies retrace the memory of the sublimes.
Woodwinds and sparrows pipe until clear melodies unfold-
Sweet April sings and dances, reaching for numb fingers to hold.
Dance dance dance with me and I will warm your cold cold heart,
Spring is here and it is the time of year for our indifference to depart.
Dance dance dance with me and warm our cold cold hearts,
Spring is here and it is the time of year for renewal and fresh starts.

Kathleen G. Everett © 2012