Spring flowers rattle the caves,
provoking the apostles
to take up their pallets of sorrow
and leave dark comfort.
Trees hide in the rain,
fearing the cold; as crocus
and daffodils join the chorus
the noise of flowers disturbs my sleep.
Pulling on the coat of forgiveness
I stagger toward the light,
shocked into wakefulness
by plum tree flowers.
Wind-driven rain soaks the stone mountain,
ice bound rivers break from their bonds.
Trembling with cold I walk out on a ledge,
and look down into the valley of forgotten promise.
What can I do but leap from my refuge,
made bold once again by the flowers of spring.
Reading of “Noise of Flowers” with music by Chet Baker.
What a lovely poem to wake me on my birthday!
You even mention plum blossoms, which used to entrance me when I was a girl in Eden Valley – the wild plum was so fragrant.
Yes, the spring flowers’ vibrancy stirs us – how blessed we are.
Don, this is full of clever images, a great description of seasonal change turned internal. Thank you.
The perfume of the flower is the prayer of its being…
Nancy Rose, I too, remember vividly the wild plum in bloom in Eden Valley; end of May, a generation ago, when my son Robin was born. ‘Swift as a weaver’s shuttle fly our years’. Even so, another spring eternal is with us and with it a flowering plum blossom birthday greeting to you.
Noble friend, Don — I’ve Iong seen You consistently springing, flowering and masterfully “Tripping (dancing with) the Light Fantastic” (the Power of Love) by way of forgiveness to a wakeful awareness that is indispensable. My own Dance calls for a daily “four-step”: “Wake Up, Grow Up, Fess Up, and Show Up!” And, by God, I’m still here. Above all, that Dance Floor is Open!
So delicate is this dance we enter in our third trimester in the lavender gaining coloration in the power of forgiveness .Giving everything and receiving back beauty standing alone.
May all Geminis moving in air,s currents enter our Earth in praise and thanksgiving.
Love your opening to Spring forth into the light, Don… ❤️
One day recently I was driving down the Big Thompson River corridor seeing beautiful wild plum and chokecherry bushes, boulder raspberry bushes, crimson fireweed wildflowers, and then I entered the Big Thompson
Valley seeing enormous Cottonwood trees, verdant green canopy, surrounding me and remembering my thought. What enormous power of life
is expressing itself, so effortlessly, so healing to my soul, reminding me of my joy connecting with nature. What a gift. Thank you Don for the shout out.
And O yes, the Lilacs.
“Made bold by the flowers of spring.” Nice.
Most beautiful and intricate weaving Don. Sublime, as it rearranges the habitual senses into a new and patterned order. And what is the “noise of flowers” but the silent sound of the breath of life itself being breathed into each created thing — “a host of golden daffodils” — here I remember Wordsworth — “and ’tis my faith that every flower enjoys the air it breathes.” Ever grateful
Evokes Hanshan and Cold Mountain and Gary Snyder, the vast pacific northwest and northeast, this misty brotherhood of poet priests on the path, off the trail, winding upward, always coming home.