A late March thundershower floats toward me
Like a plucked flower
Handed over on a walk to a lover
With a smile
Down this afternoon path
That breezes past
Spring-born ponds
Erupting
Of Peepers ululating and Chorus Frogs ratcheting
In a wave of Gnawa music.
The surface
Puckers
Diacritic raindrops
Slowly
Softly
Each plop and their purple ripple
Has not enough splash
To generate an echo
From the reedy shore.
The storm not so strong to hide the sun
For long
To move a wind
Or slice the sky with lightning
Rolls by with quiet thunder
Wetting my hair and all the early blossoms.
My spirit lifts while its shadow stoops
Cups the mud.
This gentle stir
Today
Seems to awaken and nudge the air
Just enough
To take His hand
Away
Sets free
The spring Dove
From his fist
Writes its wings in a mist
Changes his mind from Him to Her.
Custodian of Apostrophe's Apostle
Who done it, steed?
Who said what's read
between the lines marked
with ad hoc diacritic dashes?
Kaleidoscope Sunrise
David J Walker
To die a little each day is
The way it goes
The way life sways in the wind
To bend each bough and blend
Each Shape to diacritic shape
But not break in the end
To find the fog of happiness
And then lose your way again
In a summers day sunshine
To find a reason to keep a
A peaceful sleep quiet through
A dreamless Sapphire night
To awaken having forgotten the
Latest yesterday in a Topaz haze
Having lost tomorrows calendar
It’s just another day with its own
Catch phrase continuum
Changing the colors of a
Kaleidoscope Sunrise
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