David Latham

The morning mists are lingering
A somber wardrobe worn
The shrouds and veils
Of last night’s storms
Are draped among the trees
And thrown upon the day
Like garments
Of an evening late
A thoughtless soul
In careless haste
Forgot to put away




Sara Mathews     April 2016

The morning does not call me forth
It’s damp and cold and wrong
The birds are up
But sing
Just bits and pieces
Of reluctant song
And flowers droop their pretty heads
And wonder what has kept the sun
So long




Sara Mathews     April 2016

The morning tastes
Like lemon
On my tongue
The breezes blow
In silks aquamarine
The trees are speaking
Raven sparrow wren
The ground is bursting
Secrets through the green
The clouds throw down
A scarf of woven shade
A glade of bluets
Brings bouquet of snow
And I am simply here
With gratitude
The sun feels me
And likes the way I beam




Sara Mathews  (For Wendy)    April 2016

The tulips wait 

Though darkness comes

And beats me to my door

They wait

And glow like little moons

To welcome me

They cannot rest 

Until they know I’m

Through the picket gate

The night descends

I turn the key

I’m in

The tulips wait again

They listen for my foot

Upon the stair

They shine below my window pane

And wait to hear my prayers

And only when I’m in my bed

And lashes fall

They nod their knowing heads

And whisper 

Goodnight all

Sara Mathews     April 2016

The birds rehearse
With brio
An hallelujah singing
Spring
Blue sky and
Whole note yellow sun
And shoots of green
Like newborns come
And red bud
Bells
On maples ring




Sara Mathews     April 2016

There is no doubt
About your mood today
You got up early
Made your bed
And rose
To wake us all
With noon time watts
At six a.m.
We tried to get another
Hour of rest
But you drew me from my bed
And emptied every nest
The birds are singing choruses
Of praise to your aplomb
And daffodils of sunshine
Are glowing on the lawn
And brushed along each
Branch and bough
Are golden highlights
Of your smile

Sara Mathews     April 2016

                                                        Www.mnartists.org/jeannelong
                                                  http://inafreshfoursquare.blogspot.com


You should write a poem
About that bird
That landed on your knee
As you sat in quiet meditation
Of the day
So calm and so at peace
You were a natural place
A friendly perch
On which a little bird
Could come to pause
And catch his breath
And share a moment
Of communion
Can it be just strange
Coincidence
It was a bluebird
Your favorite
That came to rest
A beat with you
Or did he bring a message
In his fluttering chest
From loving guardians
To let you know
That all is well
And shall be
A reassuring mission
From above

Sara Mathews     April 2016

'Bluebird' by Jeanne Long  (used with permission)