Spring is Stirring

Spring is stirring, softly turning,
Liberty for luck, or learning,
Hangs a hum of humans hiving:
What means stubbornness, or striving?
Never knowing what’s out there —
Or the worth, or cost, of care.

Stars are spinning, slow and sober,
Winter won’t admit it’s over,
Can’t concur on any kenning,
Implements for implementing.
Love would never lathe, then leave us —
Grasp our lagging dreams, then grieve us —

No. The gyros judge and jury
Haunts our halls, and bids us hurry.
Yet we feel it: yen and yearning,
Soul to sky, and rest returning:
While away awash in whirring,
Stars spin on, and Spring
Is stirring

Green Echo (4)

Beside these somber, thinking trees
Let go of all your sorrow,
For love was made for living days,
Which are not ours to borrow.

The water sings its peaceful song,
Each birth a resurrection —
Both empty sky and pensive trees
Are there in its reflection.

So let love fill your heart as may,
Don’t wait until tomorrow —
And give the quiet, thinking trees,
Your worry and

Your sorrow

Green Echo (3)

My sister and brother were flying a kite,
As I watched my young dad with a barbecue grill;
My mother had handed me something to drink
On an early Spring day, by a big open field
With the charcoal scent strong in the air.

We laughed as we ran, and we watched the kite soar,
Then sat down for burgers and pink lemonade;
My mom had a book that she read in the shade,
On early Spring day, by a green row of trees,
And a few other families nearby.

I open my eyes, and the voices are gone;
There’s no one else out here, just me and my thoughts.
For my young dad got old, and then died in his time,
My mother is fading, and so far away,
It’s an early Spring day, but the years turn to mist,
Like the clouds o’er the top of the trees

Like the clouds o’er the top of the trees

Green Echo (2)

The road must bend
And so should we.
This is the way
Of destiny;
To hug, though we
Don’t understand
The contours of
The changing land.

The way goes on
Past where we see.
This is a life,
To strain, although
Our eyes are weak,
For just a glimpse,
A tiny peek
Into the haze
Of distant days.
To travel thus
Is us, always.

The road goes on,
And so should we.
Just why is not
My place to see.
For green the grass,
And blue the sky,
And long the road,
But God knows


Green Echo (1)

He sought to lead a hermit’s life
For hatred travels far and wide;
But saw, no matter where he went,
He carried all of it inside,
Inside his hot and summer brain,
The hatred was inside.

He’d left when he was just a kid
To break off and to make a name;
But found again, to his dismay,
Just what a hollow thing is fame:
A pouring down of acid rain
Upon the glorified.

He travels now the old dirt track,
The heat of summer in his eyes;
He can’t escape from what he is,
But knows that some could sympathize –
For life is just a thing to feign,
And hope is little more than pride

And love’s an old, forgotten lane

That he remembers, once

He tried