Timeline for poetry list by bluegrasspoet
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An orchard spider lowers itself on a strand of silk from ceiling to sink as I prepare to wash my face. Hygiene is neglected.
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An abundance of locust blossoms, a hayfield in windrows, a few fresh bales, a flat smiley-face balloon tied to a post, blows in the wind.
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Sunlight angling over the cistern spotlights a few heads of Johnson grass. They sway in the breeze, silent gospel singers.
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The day breaks gray and chill. A mourning dove calls once and is quiet. A dead limb hangs in the top of the cedar.
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The dogwood blares its white purity in a world of primary colors: green grass, blue sky, yellow sun.
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The moon hangs east like a washed-out Wal-Mart smiley face. Clouds are tinged the faintest pink from the setting sun.
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A rabbit dashes around the yard, chased by another. It feints a departure and sneaks back, ears orange in the sun and veined like leaves.
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April showers bring mayapples, raising their umbrella leaves against squalls and downpours. Last night, a rainbow. This morning, more rain.
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The redbud puts out tiny heart-shaped leaves. Its fuschia blooms, faded and falling, give way to the paw-paw's mourning-purple bells.
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Under a clear blue sky, bluebells and violets, clouds of dogwood blossoms. The wind is still.
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A foolishness of robins twitters in this first day of April. Up like farmers before the sun, may they find a surfeit of early worms.
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Dawn glows on the horizon, makes silhouettes of trees with new baby leaves. It's like dimestore art but I only want to stand and look.
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The rising sun strikes the redbud, silhouettes a nesting robin. Redbreast clashes with the tree's purply pink blooms.
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A night of storms, sirens, and broken sleep gives way to a still, dark morning. When I peer out the window, I peer into my own eyes.
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Spring! When the county's vertical mower chews off all the limbs overhanging the right of way. I hear them now, leaving wounds and spikes.
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Hail scatters in the grass like popcorn, it pecks against aluminum siding, and the house sounds like a huge corn popper.
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A sorrell mule grazes among the daffodils and the saddle breds.
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Clouds like the fluff stuffed in an aspirin bottle, a pasture purple with henbit, a pair of crows stage an airshow above the Shell station.
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Snow blowing from the trees creates a second snow storm. Spears of daffodil leaves emerge bright green from the white.
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Five-day-old March has so far brought us thunder storms, sun-and-sixty, hail, tornadoes, and, this morning, the winter's first real snow.
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