Spring

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poetry: snow cave

in Winter
in all Winters
it lays dormant inside 
domed darkness

you walk past it looking nowhere
anywhere, but not there
  never there

yet it goes still
growing bedrock feral
mushroom bellied
lichen ferocious
trapping pain web-like
crackling like ice
smelling like bruised desperation
like untouched skin
like hot ash scattered by eroded winds 

you don’t need to see
to feel

you walk faster looking nowhere
anywhere, but not there
  never there 

yet it goes still
like tides
like movement 
Spring saplings tap-dancing
on rooted tiptoes
daffodils issuing battle cries
thrusting spears upward
dandelion puffs cooing
dreaming light again
there’s a light somewhere
he says

your nested winds sigh
your meadow grasses rustle
your waters ripple gently

just a bit longer
you tell your forest
  hold tight 

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Poetry: Mined/My Truths

Bradbury calls upon writers to “go panther-pawed 
where all the mined truths sleep.” Lately, I’ve
been rather horse-like; clip-clopping
through knee-high weeds which itch,
burning my skin toward a fake sunset. “Wake up,
dummy,” I say each morning, but somehow
my eyes don’t hear. Instead, I close them tighter; 
stumble, trip across briar patches again
and again. “Wake up,” the bluejay mock calls
while diving beak first at my lips. I kiss away
pain by pressing my palms hard across thin
eyelids so I can’t see even a tiny speck
of light. If I don’t look maybe they will go away.
But then the doves sing from their nest. Tiny
white eggs might be under them now; new life
waiting for a chance to dive and fall from branches
into an uncertain world of cats and clovers.
“What if I do open my eyes when I sleep?” I ask 
rabbit jumping across my yard. His ears twitch
which means he hears me. He knows plenty
truths, I think. Maybe I can hop wildly like him.

Note: The poem I’m referring to appears in “Zen in the Art of Writing,” by Ray Bradbury. It’s called “Truths Sleep.” The photo is of our pet rabbit named Bun-Bun.

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52 Photo Challenge: Week 15-Series

“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
Winter is dead.” —A.A. Milne

This week my assignment for the 52 photo challenge was to create a series of images that went together. I do this every week and so I decided to try and tell a story with my images. My daughter and I went to a creek by our house and took a nice stroll together with our cameras.

The light was harsh and the animals scarce. I did get a few bird shots and one of a turtle, but nothing I could turn into a series. So, I walked along the trail and took pictures of the flowers for a bit. I started thinking about when we sprinkled my grandmother’s ashes in the Oregon mountains and how butterflies followed our truck. I sort of jokingly said, “Grandma, could you bring some butterflies my way. I can’t do just flowers.”

A few minutes later about a dozen butterflies arrived. I chased them around the field. The light was bad and I couldn’t get the shots I wanted, but I was in heaven. Chasing butterflies in a field of wildflowers is how to spend the day. I put the images in order from far away to close up. Let me know what you think and if you have a favorite.

Also, to everyone who commented on my last post, thank you. I’ve been overwhelmed by the love and support. It means the world to me.

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Bonus photos:

  • Photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW
  • If you want to join the 52 Photo Challenge, you can find all the information at nicolesy.com

52 Photo Challenge
Week 1: Bokeh
Week 2: Silhouette
Week 3: Black and White
Week 4: Motion Blur
Week 5: Texture
Week 6: Framing
Week 7: Leading Lines
Week 8: Negative Space
Week 9: Patterns
Week 10: Symmetry
Week 11: Green
Week 12: Sidelight
Week 13: Sense of Scale
Week 14: One Lens

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Shoebox Poetry: Spring Flowers

I am dancing yellow flowers
moss growing on a cracked boulder
dragonfly battles waged through cattail forests
sleeping rocks tucked beneath rotted boards
wide-winged hawks quietly circling prey

I am daring spring sunshine
fields of green miner’s lettuce wet with dew
twisted trees reflected in muddy puddles
colorful floral crowns skipping around a maypole
teeny tiny frogs in a toddler’s hand

I am dandelion fluff wishes
bubbles caught in a spiraling spider web
fat white clouds pressing through a rainbow
afternoons spent reading in a hammock
soft rabbits hiding among wild buttercups

I am lively starry jubilation
moon struck open-armed happiness
deep water thick-boned delight
galaxy swirling sweet poetry madness
freckle-faced daisy ringed freedom

Shoebox Poetry: This is the third poem in my series based on an old box of photos I inherited when my grandmother died in 2004. I love the joy in this photo and I hope my words match its beauty and grace. Happy first week of spring!

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Poetry: Daffodil

sleepy round bulbs wake
as straight green arrows
tipped in bright yellow
aimed at the sky

you ask me questions
teary-eyed, red-cheeked
as sunlight paints stripes
across our bare feet

without answers, I deflect
making tiny clover bouquets—
thankful treasures fit for
all the garden fairies

we hold hands as
spring’s regal heralds rise
unfurling their tucked beauty—
sun within a sun

we dilly-dally dance
dreaming of hammock naps
doves building new nests
sweet lil strawberry babies

we stuff our pockets
with tomorrows and tomorrows
while hummingbirds dart by
and fresh raindrops fall

Our first daffodil opened this week and it inspired this short poem. I hope you enjoyed it.