In The Presence Of Spring Poem by DM W

Flashing pink splashes; budding promises;
The hard, wintry heart is surely softened
And present troubles are briefly halted.
Even in old bones, the primal pith is stirred
And a deeper purpose is rekindled.
Fresh petals strewn across the dew stained lawn;
The trees flourish with rose and milk blossoms.
Precious purple stars of tulips unfold;
A spirit, pure and joyous, fills the soul;
Where time lets us be in warm, winsome ways;
Where love is a dove newly inspired;
The hour of the lamb and the leveret;
The hour of Hyacinth's ascension;
Sweet scents whisper their secrets in the air
Like a hallowed ritual now so rare.
O the colours, the textures, the magic;
The bright, lyrical sunbursts of surprise;
The sheer ecstasy of grand design;
A hint of Eden's bloom before the Fall.
The lingering presence of gold tinged bliss;
Miracles of forgotten symphonies;
Resurrected in radiant repartee.
Twinkling birdsong buttresses the dawn,
Laying claim over our consciousness.
Lush lexicons of nursery lullabies
Comprise this season's murmured choir,
To add a sprinkle of fairy dust so
That forgotten memories are revived.
I hear, I sense its subtle rhythms
And its elegant, ornamental rhymes.
It's a sanctuary from emptiness.
It is redemption from spectral kingdoms.


My April dreaming is bold and boundless.
I pray for pellucid light to pour through
The cracks in our fragile empires;
To silence the rebirth of bigotry,
Forged from pungent tribal orthodoxies
And coarse patriarchal hierarchies.
In febrile visions I select symbols
From the insistent turning of the year.
The cuckoo's first plaintive call is my guide
It points me to this life's very essence.
I pray for fiery fruits of the vine
To dispel contemporary inertia.
I pray for a flower strewn levelling.
An archetypal need for harmony
Spreads through this most abundant occasion;
It's not a strained transcendence; just a change
In the general direction of the wind.
The force that flows through root and branch and stem
Moves me. I can trace its wild, strident cries.
I can hear, in the loins of the earth,
The rowan launch its radical agenda.
I embrace warm, vibrant blood bursting through
Veins of antiquated ceremonies.
Lovers of very different persuasions
Walk like dreamers in madrigal measure,
Hungrily towards azure horizons.
They turn away from stifling centuries;
Finally free from the absurd burden.
For Spring's the season of insurrection;
Of Nature's verdant, teeming willfulness.
I hear rumblings of the first thunder
And anticipate the crisp rush of rain.