Spring… fina-freaking-ly

Here is a poem that I wrote a little while back when I was particularly pining for spring.  Although it is late April I’m still pining for spring.  I live in New Hampshire.  I may be pining for spring until July when it arrives and we have our three and a half days of summer.

The Bulb

I am a tight fist in the frozen earth.
Un-noteworthy. Not as firm as a stone
nor of enduring value like a gem.
I sense muffled footsteps,
feathery breezes, trill of song,
snapping twig, and whisper of rain
from another world
which I dream of entering,
and will enter dreaming.
Now I follow a code to remain
still, quiet, unnoticed.
As the cold soil grows buttery
and smells brown and green,
I will slowly burst, rise and morph.
Press up blind
and grasp down sure,
spidery tendril explorers,
curious in the thick dark dirt.
I stretch, moving to my limits,
to take what I need
and search for what I crave.
And then a bold blade of me
will play red carpet
for my fleeting celebrity
As the audience, hungry for color
and celebration, awaits,
my face will emerge, innocent,
to reveal my
velvet firework
in modest dazzle.

Published by

Suzanne Dudley

Writer, Coach, Actor... mom, and wrangler of many dogs. Pugslie, is but one of a small herd.

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