five tulips

yellow and green

curved harmony

in square vase

1.

closest to me

leaf folded in on

itself                      edge

of one petal

slowly                   peeling                                 away

2.

twisted yellow                  f r a y i n g            at the tip   perfectly horizontal

3.

stem dips

low then points up

bulb of brightness           reaching achingly

tired cells knowing

these are the last hours

of beauty

4.

turned away from me

ashamed             aware                   aggrieved

one

sunny

leaf

separated

about to flutter down

5.

leaning

crossed on top

smallest

closed off

unwilling to breathe in

to know the air

                reclining               resting

on fading

                perfection

                                 below

Roger and the geese

drizzle dampens path

down

to

Princess Point

and the shore of

lazy lagoon water from great lake Ontario

where swans and geese as large as you

with your little rubber boots splashing in shallows

swim smoothly up

and you back up

spellbound

for this is nature

this is real

this is true

this is age old

this is stick throwing splash

this is snail shell shore

this is giant driftwood log

until we get back into

car seat Mazda 3

you crying to see the geese again

bald eagle

there     see it

lighting on crusted snow

near ditch

not a crow

not a hawk

white head

hooked bill

we zip by

in spring splattered cars

and watch for three seconds

this powerful wild

that soars on updrafts

unchanging through world upheaval

here in this prairie spring

Trump haiku #12

it just keeps snowing

and snowing and snowing and

we need big blower!

frost fall

overnight branches turned

white

putting on

crystal

icy sweaters

frosty miracles of beauty

in the last days of

this cruel season of

relentless shiver

and now the shining flakes fall

like small white feathers

in the bright sun of day

with only the memory

of temporal perfection

in this world so marked and pitted

shoulders hunched against the cold

Reynold

hand cradles Bible

billowing words

updrafting multi-coloured parachute of love

lifts us up into his world

of convicted care

book held firmly spine traversing

life-line

and he paces our reality

our level

our fraying carpet

long strides journeying and arm reaching

to elusive uneasy truth

still cradling close to the heart

the word not as a weapon

or tightly bound static box

but

open

giving

lovely

fabric of life

we snow

we snow

Saturday flakes

wind-driven wayward souls heading

toward gravity ground and settle

bonded frozen alone one with white expanse of winter

we wait

cold hearts

stretching scarf-less necks

looking through dense drifting

for sweet flute melody of peace

we wonder

caught

in this bank of Saturday snow

when the heartstrings will resolve

into warm welcome whole note love