Category: Writing

“Treasures in the Morning”

Anita Martinz @ Wikimedia Commons

Cold tentacles
hold on
to burgeoning branches
beneath the April sun:
yellow butterflies alight
upon celadon lapels
of  petal-packed corollas —

Skies are cyan, crystal-clear,
embossed with goose
down pillows
soaked
in alabaster dreams —

There are treasures in the morning,
this platinum morning:
emerald and gold
glimmer
over infantile leaves
of oak and elm —
ruby and sapphire,
topaz, turquoise and amethyst
sparkle
in the tranquil blooming
of the promised flowers.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Photograph by Anita Martinz @ Wikimedia Commons

“Almost April”


… back from my travels… I turn around and once again, it’s Almost April

Almost April:
when crocuses,
aconites
speckle colors
on frigid earth,
and buried bulbs unfurl
their green fingers —

Somewhere
a cold cauldron sits
atop a flame,
warmth simmers:
imperceptible
as approaching dawn.

Almost morning:
when softest tones tiptoe
through purple darkness,
and wakening lark arises
in radiant song,
ruptures
daybreak deafness.

Almost laughter.  

by D. G. Vachal © 2012

“The Edge of Bloom”

Rookery at John Street Wikimedia Commons 2
The Edge of Bloom

Almost, at this moment:
no matter how feeble the light
upon the trees,
despite this night benumbed,
there are buds that tiptoe
at the pinnacle of jagged cliffs,
careening
at the edge
of bloom —

this miracle,
this dance of beauty
cannot be halted,
cannot be restrained.

by D. G. Vachal © 2013

*** Image by Wikimedia Commons