Contributor Posts

On gossamer wings,
it states in a poem,
flying to somewhere,'
going back home.

The loneliest song,
I've ever heard,
the whispering voice
of a chirp less bird.

A gloomy, wet, rainy day,
greets us in the morning.
Sidewalks wetted,
by falling rain,
dark clouds, low to ground,
is depressing, to Sun lovers.

The icy fingers
of Winter's end,
pry into a Spring,
where snow descends.

The grass was wet,
with new fallen snow.
Please leave us Winter,
do it now, just go.

Smokey blossoms,
pinkish hue,
seeing this tree,
thinking of you.

A sun, rising slowly,
from the East,
peeking through tree limbs,
as sunrays penetrate,
the cool, shadowed,
corners of the courtyard.
A plum tree, in bloom,
brings color to a landscape,
of bare branches, budded,
but sans, leafs, an early Spring.

Muted shades of colors exist
when walking through the garden.
Daffodils, abloom,
Hyacinths, too.
Tulips are budding,
soon to be in view
with colorful flowers.
It is the new thing,
as the season's unfold,
into a new Spring.

The days grow long,
with nights retreat.
Days are warmer,
a Spring treat.

A crashing, crescendo,
as dawn makes its way,
to another cold morning,
with a sky so grey.

Sunshine tomorrow,
is what I heard.
We need some warmth,
cold mornings, are absurd.

The garden grows,
in hottest sun.
Flowers in bloom,
for everyone.

"...Astonishingly, honeybees possess one of the most complicated examples of nonhuman communication. They can tell each other where to find resources such as food, water, or nest sites with a physical “waggle dance.” This dance conveys the direction. distance and quality of a resource to the bee's nestmates" .....Read more at The Conversation

Till the ground, deeply,
digging up the dirt.
If you aren't careful,
you will get hurt.

Plowing the land,
tilling the soil,
get my heart racing,
making my blood boil.

Cumulus clouds,
extend to the land,
bringing darkness.
It's raining again.

A little sunshine,
to warm the air,
would be a change,
to the grey winter fare.