Robin

Robin

Early spring robin dreams of rain and ground teeming with worms;

robin does not analyze but enjoys the ordinary.

We can learn from the robin to savor life as it happens.

This poem is a Sijo, a Korean form.  It is shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

I saw my first robins this week.  Actually several of them were visible from my house.  It amazed me really, as the snow has just pretty much all melted here.  The robins didn't waste any time.  There really is something about robins that makes me feel happy.  They are a sign of spring -- rebirth, new life.  I welcome all the greening that will take place in the weeks ahead.  I wrote this poem some years ago, but I still feel the same.  We have to savor life as it happens, enjoy the ordinary in each day.   Spring and robins bring feelings of optimism, hopefulness, appreciation.

Spring

New Life Appearing in Germany This Spring

Spring

I know it is spring somewhere
a German friend shared flower photos
so I know it must be true -
but here there are still piles of snow.

No green yet to be seen
no buds yet on trees
no signs of new life
this has been a long winter.

So I will wait for our spring
faith there is life beneath the snow
I am excited now, optimistic
I love the longer days right now.

Each spring of my life is special
I really never know each autumn
when I know I must endure winter
If I will survive to see another spring.

And that is the crux of it for me
if I am being honest as I am now
as we approach the warming time:
I am confident I will see spring again.

So I will be patient for now
never mind the ice and snow
I have time to wait knowing
I will see greening once again.

I am  sharing this with Poets United Poetry Pantry.   I truly am waiting for spring.  I think the older one gets the more one appreciates spring, a season we cannot take for granted.  I never take it for granted.  When I go from autumn into winter, I always wonder.....will I see another spring?  Anyone else?

Kindness

Kindness

How often do I overlook

an opportunity to be kind

too busy to notice the other

too much in a hurry to care

I walk in my bubble, no time

to smile, I ignore rather than

return the glance of a stranger.

My heart is not hard

but often it is unobservant

until unexpected kindness touches me

and I am made aware once again

this is how kindness feels - yes, oh yes,

I must remember to pass it on 

to others along my path today.

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif - "kindness"

Breathe!

Breathe

It is a cold January night.   The wind rattles the windows and the door; and I watch tree limbs blow to and fro, lit only by the hazy glow of the street lights.  My lamp flickers.  I know I should search out a flashlight and some candles just in case.  The night appears moonless, but I trust it is there.  I breathe deeply.  Sigh.

I cuddle in a blanket on the couch, try to distract myself by watching television. The screen flickers.

The front door clatters.  Is someone at the door at this late hour?  On such a night?  I remember being home alone as a child.  Home alone when an unexpected doorbell ring occurred.  I would hide in another room, cower in a closet until there was silence.  Then, waiting a few minutes,  I would peek out behind a curtain to assure myself that the unknown visitor was gone. But tonight my doorbell is NOT ringing.

Deciding it foolish to hide, I wait it out from the safety of my couch.  After all, no one can see inside through the closed blinds.  I grab a heavy vase, grasp it on my lap, in case.

Knocking continues.  Persistent.  Loud.  The rattling of the storm  door continues.  I feel my heart beating faster. Who is on the other side? I breathe.

Should I dial 911?  Should I cry out to see if someone needs help this windy night?  I cling to the vase.  It could hurt someone! I breathe.

Still the rattle, but lessening now.  The wind calms.  The rattling stops.  Is this a ruse? A trick to get me to open the door?  Or has someone fallen ill on my front walk? Or dead?

Holding my vase I jerk open the door and find the storm door hanging by only one hinge, loosened and battered by the wind.  Safe again. I breathe!

This fictional story is being written for Sunday's "Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero: A Pantry of Prose - 1"  I used this poem of mine - January Wind - from January 26 to inspire a short story using 313 words or less.  Smiles.  My short story has exactly 313 words!