Toad squeak, giddy in spring fizz as new green leaves weep April rain.Feathers’ unboxed crayons shake,sun-paroled from winter’s jail. En-joyed, birds sing songs of suet cakes,fat with fruits and nuts; now dessertafter fresh worms and autumn seeds,their fluffed, animate cubes transformto art, testament of survival and heart. toad, giddy, fizz, weep, shake, crayon, nut, weep,…
Category: nature
Doodads from past week 033023
A mish mash of pics including 2 real fuzzy ones of a hawk and a bluebird in the yard today!
dVerse Poetics and Tanka Tuesday 311 — Variegated
‘OSTARA – Spring Equinox’ is a painting by Annie Louvaine Celebrating the Spring Equinox festival on the Pagan wheel of the Year. Represented by the Goddess Ostara her story goes that she found a frozen bird, she brought it back to life by transforming the dead bird into a Hare. each year the Hare lays…
Tanka Tuesday 310 — Unnatural
Terri Webster Schrandt Terri says: “This is a photo of Nine Mile Falls, after which our little community is named. I captured this last March when the water district let out the water of the Spokane River to create Lake Spokane. When you drive by, the mist from the falls hits the windshield enough to use…
dVerse OLN 331 — Nature Speaks
You gaze, your golden eye fringedwith pine lashes; snow cradle angelsframe your grace in a face of blue. You brush a message of “unknown“across grainy crystal canvas thatanswers a question from the soul. You frost the dancing winter willowas its scraggly yellow hair shimmieswith gratitude; “no limbs lost, thanks.“ Your tacit promise of Spring singsin…
dVerse — Q168 — Winter Tears
Red plume finery cannot deflect; Angel pink dips cannot stem; White sheet bark cannot turn, nor wood smoke drift to gone, today’s cursed canvas of gloom. Its stench cannot be washed off. Ice crystal tears weep in dismay. Until sun sword slices to blue. Mish is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. Mish says: Write…
dVerse Poetics — In January
Crimson wings cast weak shadows on russet fluffs still standing from once-sunny goldenrod; they clump, the mangy fur of a hungry coyote lost from its pack. Limp, muted green mats of still grass fill the spaces, where deer lie, hide to hide, in their warm rests until Venus nightly beckons from her speckled black bowl….
Tao Talk 