April 9
April was so tender yesterday,
humming a little tune over her needlework
but today she scowls a downpour
of cold, hard rain
my dog and I walk through,
neither of us happy about it.
I think she must have stomped off
In a snit
as we slosh through the overflow
of despondency
until I spy the knit and purl
of her design,
pricks of green and gold and red,
opening burls of leaves
with birdsong threaded through
–by MCPerez
April 10
The wind blows snow around
From some dark hearted cloud
It’s an in-and-out restless day.
Sun spins flakes
Into shiny coins
like the blossoms
Of apple trees or a flurry
Of white butterflies
Alight
On the moment.
–by MCPerez
Rain stopped. Wind’s gusting.
Whitecaps on driveway puddles:
Paper sailboats race.
–by Jeanne Frank
In the quiet of the dark
Rap rap on the door
An unfamiliar face
Behind us, an orange rage
The wind bending fierce flames
Crackle, snap
An orchestra of sirens, flashing lights
Parades of technical competence
Humanity, compassion
Then, silence save for the gusty bursts
Daylight reveals a smoldering skeleton of the past
Spring renewal
–by Adrianne Maros
April Snow
Papa always called
it God’s dandruff — lacy flakes
dancing in the breeze.
–by Jeanne Frank
April snow and I’m
crazy for summer – heat, weeds
mosquitoes and all.
–by Evelyn Hanna
A Tanka
great gusts of spring wind
strip last year’s Snowball bush bare
fling fall’s leaves skyward
dance madly through tall tree tops
roar the lids off garbage cans. –by Evelyn Hanna
Scalped yard, mounds of grass
garnished with driveway gravel —
plow guy’s handiwork.
–by Jeanne Frank
April 11
Sometimes the wind comes
and the trees shrug it away.
They are big hemlocks.
They forget that the wind
can knock them down.
It’s only April, they say,
and April cannot be believed.
She panders one day,
throws snow the next.
The hemlocks are old.
You can’t make them dance.
–by MCPerez
April should shine,
explode, be merry
with clashing colors
abounding. Ought
not house shivers,
frigid onslaughts
of wind fraught
with pellets of snow
and ice.
–by Evelyn Hanna
April 12
The sky is frosted glass.
Anything might happen
between here and there.
Below
Spring Beauties huddle
at the feet of a beech.
Overhead
Pileated Woodpeckers
knock their messages back and forth
across the otherwise silence
while I stand listening
between here
and there.
–by MCPerez
April 13
April was in fits today,
blustering and raining
And throwing her winds
around,
stripping the flowers
from the red maples that spill
across the road like a bloodletting.
She can be like this sometimes.
Tomorrow, perhaps,
she will return to her needlework.
The marsh marigolds
are eager to bloom.
–by MCPerez
Discarded gloves, ones
used to protect, now litter
roadsides. Mothers cry.
–by Patty Kay
4/12/20
Birds build nests between
spiny branches of Cholla.
Chicks grow up safely.
–by Patty Kay
Under dark sad skies
remember that the rain brings
hidden magic joy
to those who wait for the color of light.
–by Deb Flint
Praise Above
Sky can be so distracting,
it’s a wonder
we ever make it through a day
without tripping over everything
along the way, all unseen while we stare
upward at the ever-changing scene –
black and menacing,
fluffy cotton white,
stand-still-take-your-breath-away-blue.
Oh, the sunsets and rises,
and there are stars and meteors,
not to mention the glories
that fall from above,
white, wet and shining.
Only the presence of houses,
mountains and tall trees
blocking the view
allow me to get any work done,
carry on a conversation, tear
myself away from gazing
at the amazements above.
–by Evelyn Hanna
4/13/20
In washes, Monsoon
floods bring and take. Homeless camps
either thrive or die.
–by Patty Kay