Tag: poems

Almost April

Almost April — there is a moment just before spring fully arrives,​ ​​
when nothing seems to have changed, ​​​
and yet, everything has already begun.​​​
​​​
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

— D. G. Vachal​​​
​​​
​This poem is from my collection​​​
The Turning of Light
a book that follows the quiet unfolding​​​
of the seasons within and around us.​​​
​​​
If you’d like to explore the full collection:​​​

The Turning of Light
​​​
Image (public domain): William J. Forsyth (American, 1854–1935), Crocuses, oil on canvas.​

The Turning of Light


The cover of my second poetry book collection, The Turning of Light, features Claude Monet’s luminous painting, Woman With a Parasol, Facing Left (1886), one of the most beloved images of the Impressionist movement.​

​In the painting, Monet captured more than a woman standing in a field. He captured a moment of living light — clouds drifting across the sky, wind moving through tall grass, and sunlight shifting across the landscape.​

​Nothing in the scene is still. Light moves, the sky changes, and the moment itself seems to pass even as we look at it.​

​That quiet transformation of light lies close to the spirit of the poems in The Turning of Light, which follow the turning of the seasons and the subtle ways time reshapes memory, love, and the inner life.​​


The Turning of Light can be found on Amazon in Kindle, paperback, and hardcover versions.

Where Branches Are Bare

Where Branches Are Bare

Where branches are bare
snow comes down
and where ruby leaves have left
stars alight
upon alabaster boughs.

D. G. Vachal ©2026

Image by Manuel H. @pixabay

Among the Jasmine Blossoms

Among the Jasmine Blossoms

a key opens
my father’s filing cabinet
locked
for so long —

the second drawer
overflows with my letters:
stamped envelopes
squiggly pen strokes
from when I was a child,
a teenager,
a young woman,
a mother —

every letter quietly kept
as a jewel
when they came to him
from far away —

now that I am near
I hear his laughter
while I walk in the garden
among the jasmine blossoms.

D. G. Vachal ©2026

Image Attribution: Mokkie, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons

Surprised by Light

Surprised by Light

surprised by light,
it burrows through drape fibers,
casts silver threads upon my pillow,
brushes my eyelids
with soft white feathers —

surprised by daybreak,
the pink and amber sky,
the robin’s first song,
rejoicing —

surprised
by gladness.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by Susanne Nilsson, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons