In the quiet of the evening's embrace, Where shadows dance and day gives way, A cardinal sings with tender grace, Its song a beacon in the fading day.
Oh cardinal, in the twilight's hue, Your melody, a bridge to skies above, A whisper of the love I once knew, Reminding me of my lost love.
Your notes, like tears, fall soft and true, Echoes of memories that linger still, Each sound, a touch of what we knew, In the quiet night, my heart you fill.
Though he has passed beyond the veil, His spirit in your song does soar, A guardian near, as shadows pale, Watching, guiding, forevermore.
Your evening hymn, a sacred plea, A testament that love remains, Unbroken by life's transient sea, An anchor through its joy and pains.
Oh cardinal, your song is balm, A solace in the evening's gloom, With every note, a healing calm, In your melody, love finds room.
Sing, dear cardinal, sing for me, For in your song, my love does dwell, A presence near, though I can't see, In your twilight song, my heart does swell.
In the depth of night's embrace, Your tune, a beacon, bright and clear, My love, though lost, I still trace, In your song, he is ever near.
Down the street the daffodils are blooming Most folks have picked up the sticks And broken branches from their yard. The flags are hung out on nice days. Down the street a Murmuration of Starlings and a worm of robins bounce Along, tweaking at grass and poking at dirt. Just before sunset A gentle spring breeze is passing. To close your eyes And listen to the quiet street And hear the birds after a long winter Is delicious. This time between six and sundown is sacred. Down the street The church will be filled For Easter Vigil, But I will hear the quiet And watch the cars go past my house and Down the street.
Sunlight hangs from branches, Cedar and Maple, Just before the sun sets. New buds decorate the tips In red hues, While some trees stand like smoke Frozen into icicles and Stiff as boney fingers Clutching the last Breath from the throat of winter. And time moves on. Blue-black sky is the backdrop Of silhouettes darkening Ever more, As the sun has slidden Beyond the horizon. Beings are moving in the dark, Ghosts nibbling at the cedars, And the robins and jays have gone to bed.
Roses of red, pink, white Twelve at first, Then eight Then five A family, siblings That go at different times And petals drop Or curl and dry Leaves, no longer green Crisp and fall away Now, the last few remain Stems blacken toward the top A touch of age hanging on to beauty Sending out their scent In heavy vapors reaching Red deepens to blood And pink, the shade of sleep White opens her petals wide And drops them like abandoned dreams
Ok, so yesterday I could not come up with a poem, despite the fact that I was at writers’ group which usually inspires me for the next few days.
I ended up pushing my deadline to a few minutes after midnight and posting an old Haiku written in 2014. I am hoping I can make up for it by extending poetry month into May 1 to add an extra day.
I will try again today to fulfill my personal wish of a new poem each day.
Pulling a thread through time Unraveling generations I grew curious about My ancestors and wanting To know more The evening passed quickly Name after name And tempted by the many Branches in my tree I concentrated to stay True to my mission Six generations later Neck cramping Eyes blurred I closed my laptop And my eyes But the names still Call to me Through time
Marble Hill Press 