HERE YOU CAN LAUGH IN FEBRUARY

078423B7-B365-4E70-B78B-3931A5746861Here you can laugh in February
the unexpected is to be expected—
a midnight creature leaves
bay nuts for you
and the creek is singing for its supper

woodpeckers and owls
tell you what time it is
but what about the new birds
that weren’t here in dark December?

You might think that February
is dreaming spring,
the equinox on her mind.

It’s easy enough to do
but not to get ahead of ourselves
is a good morning task—
February is dreaming February.

The season is laughing
stinging nettles
and coughing up hail

The month is grinning meadow flowers as pink ox eyes at dawn

and yes, a yellow saluting
affirmation of the still slanting sun
inching higher in the sky
day by day by day
like a toddler learning to stand

urging the arroyo willow
and wild currants
to see who can bud best
by the end of the month.

No, I’m not opposed to opening
my sun-starved belly to it all
skin smiling wildly
with mild stone fruit
freely singing its scent
into the canyon breeze
breathing.

Breathing
like only this season can

so see it while you can:

a one-tree performance
of Pink Petal Extravaganza
as the western wind applauds
and kicks his heels up
to play the eucalyptus
like a harp
and runs his fingers through
Cedar’s long hair
when he really gets aroused

and they seem to like being tickled in that way
letting out a moan
now and again
as if stretching for the first time.

It gives one ideas
on a February morning
here in the Nearby Faraway
which is not unlike a thousand
other mornings
that have come before
and will come after.

But it is.

Skinny Dipping Winter

IMG_8063Here’s the 8th installment of winter Haikus. My goal: a total of 107 Forest Haikus and mini ‘coyote’ poems over the winter, sharing in groups of about 10. (See the others: Fiddlehead Fern Plays an Early Note, Cricket’s Eye Point-of-View, Being Stalked By A Forest, Wings Like Boomerangs, My Tent is Leaking Haikus, Always Coming and Going, and Dancing Naked In the Rain)
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River flowing fast
taking winter into spring:
done hibernating
_________________________

Sweet purple fragrance
Oh, I wanna be a bee
kiss all your blossoms
_________________________

I can really breathe
in this circle of giants—
a deep in and out
_________________________

The form of each thing
unfurling fearlessly
like forest fern fronds
________________________

Head in the water
your duck tail feathers up—
searching for something
________________________

Two kids on one bank
me on the other, shouting
“Hey you over there!”
_______________________

Shimmering duck heads
good day for a skinny dip—
they don’t seem to mind
_______________________

A muffled morning
melancholy mist moves through—
only crows are up
_______________________

Clothes dry on drift wood
along the American
the land of the free
_______________________

A great blue heron
stands still in watery dusk—
sees his reflection
_______________________

Egret to the east
Naked man in the middle
Heron to the west

Apricot Circle

wren3

Today we had a tree-planting and poem reading ceremony for the new baby boy of my friends, which inspired this poem.

Wren begins his life to be
around a tree in community

what’s planted here will blossom forth
when cultivated with love and warmth

what’s watered here will surely grow
strong and full with much to show

by many hearts he’ll be taught
by mariposas and apricots
by many hands and many hearts
by garden harvests and plum tarts

from roots to fruit, sugar’s shared
just like love and joy and care

one day he’ll see an impossible bloom
from the window of his room
and know that long ago in May
a tree was planted out of love that day

 

Photo Credit: Diane Dew Photography