Strike the match;
light that candle;
defeat the dark.
That tiny wick
Little wicks are a waste of wax.
Find a wick you can trim
For light that won’t dim.
Somebody is messing around
sprinkling snow on the ground in April!
Too late for the fool. There should be rules about this!
We’re stuck inside, forgetting to wash, dress, or sleep.
Dealing with stress by baking and crafting, making new courses.
Things are seriously off-track, keeping distance with my hacking coughs,
but then outside the window, the final straw: snow.
This is shit.
What an unexpected gift
revealed by retreating snow:
crocuses planted so long ago
Finally bloom when w most need
symbols of hope.
(True story. I planted a couple of dozen crocuses into the front lawn in the early 2000s when we first bought this house. The bloomed on their own for three or four years before they stopped – likely victims of hubby’s herbicide. Suddenly, after so many years, 2 popped up this year!)
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I stay at home on quarantine;
I am not feeling serene.
Mexican vacation’s been
cancelled, and I was so keen
to escape from all the snow.
Caribbean sunset glow?
Basking on a sandy shore?
Travel’s bad right now, I know. 😦
We already had t. p.
no panic necessary.
Asthma inhaler ready.
Home holiday with hubby.
I will unpack my suitcase
Stuff the new swimsuit some place,
Wash your hands! Don’t touch your face!
Hope we all survive with grace.
(A poem on life in the COVID19 pandemic)
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If I refuse to wear my boots,
choose a light jacket instead of that coat,
keep my feet on gravel, ignore snow piles,
can I force winter to go?
Beguile spring with my wiles?
Boom box boy
bouncing to the smoke pit
announcing your existence-
Caught in a lost decade
I’m grateful as that music fades.
I keep checking the email
Certain I’ve missed notification.
Maybe it’s time to accept
I missed the mark. Vexation.
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride
is better than missing the celebration.
When you’re sure this is the one,
anticipation’s crushed by negation.