Posts Tagged ‘Spring’

Spring 2015 and a Plum Blossom Snowstorm…..

March 28, 2015

Crabapple/Peach Tree in back yard, Spring

Crabapple/Peach Tree in back yard, Spring

Spring has sprung, but it is tricky.  Two weeks ago we brought home 5 baby chicks….two days old, and they are all doing well in a box in a bedroom, sounding like little aliens with their strange chirpings during the middle of the night.  I worry that they aren’t getting any sun but there is a light that is on 24/7 over their crib but it isn’t sunlight.  It’s too cold for them to be outside yet, and I did gather them together last week when it was warm and took them outside.  Shepherding baby chicks is a bit like herding cats and I fast learned  they had plans of their own.  So back to their box they went and tomorrow I will put them in a ferret cage (sans ferrets) and at least they will have three stories to run and play.

Today we went and bought 6 fruit trees for a small orchard in the middle back of the property.  Just about the only place where grass was lush and growing, but it was the best place for the trees:  2 Arkansaw Black apples, over 8 feet now, two Fuji and two plum trees.  I miss my plums the most.  A few years ago the 15 year old plums tapped into the sewer system and cost us a bunch of coin.  They had to be cut down.  They were the first of the fruit trees to show blossoms and the first to lose those blossoms.  But they are now back and we have great hopes they will give us those luscious purple fruits.

Lady Nyo

 Plum Blossom Snow

The present snowstorm of

White plum blossoms

Blinds me to sorrow.

They cascade over cheeks

Like perfumed, satin tears,

Too warm with the promise of life

To chill flesh.


Rude Spring

 Sharp brittle wind

Sails like clipper glass

Cuts the skin razor thin,

And flays off winter.

This spring can’t wait.

It lies,

Promises comforting warmth

Yet delivers a numbing cold-

Too much in love with winter still.

I hear the laughter in the pines.

They moan  an evil chuckle.

No matter.

This argument will be over

Once the earth

Pirouettes on point.


Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

“The Thaw”, poetry………….

March 12, 2015


Watercolor, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2005


Spring comes drumming through

Breaking up ice in the creek

Destroying a beaver dam

And with the unexpected noise-

The un-damming of my heart

A softening of my bones

A juiciness of loins

A waving of budding branches

In a new born wind-

Encircling tender arms-

A phantom will o’ wisp lover.

Spring comes drumming through,

Cracking open where winter nailed me shut.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

(originally published in “Pitcher of Moon”, 2014)

“BlackBerry Winter”, a poem for Steve Isaak.

March 11, 2015
Blackberry Winter

Blackberry Winter

It’s almost Spring, and the weather this week seems complacent, giving in to our hopes for gentler weather. Though it’s dicey to plant anything down here in the South before Easter, I have put in a long row of onions and hope for the best. Never had any luck with onions, because you have to ‘hill’ them, plant them shallow, and push the soil from their growing bulbs. I’ve done the hills and we expect rain this whole week, but as I sit here writing, the sun is coming out and rain seems will be spotty. I have trays of tomato seeds germinating on my painting table in front of a large window and tender sprouts are raising their leaves above the plastic.

I love Winter, but this one gave us nothing but cold weather, no snow and that was a major disappointment for me. The new woodstove has finally been learned by us, and now it’s not called “the worse stove ever”. There’s intelligence in these things and ours was wanting.

Steve Isaak is a poet friend from California of many years standing.  It is good to have poets as friends.  They nudge you in the direction of what you are not writing lately by their friendship, and they a generally, when their hearts are forgiving, loyal.

Lady Nyo



It is Blackberry Winter

One last shot across

The bow of an emerging Spring.


Winter does not play fair,

It will not give up the ghost

Exit with a dignified bow

Preferring to show its rotting last tooth.


The blackberries are blooming

Kernels of lusty fruit,

Black as midnight

Sweet as a baby’s kiss,

Unavoidable staining of hands and mouths

To be shared with a snake or two down below.


The Easter planting is done

The earth knows your game

And blankets seeds

With dark, moist soil

Cozy enough to shelter tender life.


We will make blackberry wine

From Blackberry Winter.

The present chill will

Sweeten the fruit.

And will toast this short

Spell of Winter’s fading glory.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

“Easter Morning”, a new poem…..

April 20, 2014


Watercolor, Early Spring, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2011

Watercolor, Early Spring, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2011




The wind chimes are fierce

This Easter morning.

We thought of church where we would be aliens

Unknown and suspect, sitting on hard wooden pews; trespassers.


The music of the spheres

Is not out in the black of night

Does not pass from shooting star to star

As tones of energy or an ocean of harmony

But is carried by the wind from the east

That tallies majesty

With the music of wind chimes

More glorious than any carillon this morning.


I am soothed by a spirit

Random and precise,

Almost tangible blustering by

piercing my heart

As it jangles the simple vehicle of

Hollow metal pipes

And awakes me to life.


Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted 2014

“The River”…..a poem

April 17, 2014


from website: halfhearted dude...and thank you.

from website: halfhearted dude…and thank you.

Maybe it’s all this green pollen floating around the air, the fertilizer for nature’s coming bounty. Whatever it is, there is a quickening, a thump in our guts as our thoughts turn to love and sex which is natural as we are also part of this season’s bounty.

Lady Nyo




The sun streams in the window

Like a jarring benediction

From a loud-mouthed priest.


It falls upon us

As we spoon asleep

Your back turned to me

My nose on your skin

Breathing in the miracle of you.


Last night, our first in spent passion,

That particular coin flowed like a river

Between us.

You brought towels

To clean up the waters left by the flood.


Bending over me

Parting my thighs with your hands

I wanted you to leave the damp alone

And slide

Into the still wet, faintly pulsing dark chasm

My hollow jerking and twisting at the end of you


But instead

I curled up like a fiddle-head fern

And embraced your dark head with my hands

Pulling your mouth to my own 

And we flowed down that river again.


Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014



Remembering the Tsunami in Japan

March 21, 2014
Peach blossoms in the back yard.  Spring

Peach blossoms in the back yard. Spring


Three years ago this spring,  Japan was hit with a devestating tsunami.  Death and destruction of course followed, and the world watched.  The Japanese people rallied and set an example of courage and  fortitude  as they faced the aftermath of this tsunami.  Today, the scars still remain and there are areas in the North East Japan where it is a stripped no-man’s land.  Of course the radiation from the reactors were a big part of  this, but the waters came inland over a mile and took people, buildings, etc. mostly back into the sea. The death toll was horrendous.  Today, Japan is still recovering, but these are a strong people and look towards the future with hope.

I remember my own sorrow upon learning about the tsunami.  Poetry was the only way I could answer the flood of my own feelings.  It is so little enough, but the only way I had.

Lady Nyo 





The moon tonight

Blood orange orb

Duenna of the cosmos

Looms in a velvet sky.


Slipping her moorings

She floats closer to earth

A commanding  presence

Creating wonderment beneath

And pulling our eyes  to Heaven.



Is there a moon viewing party

In Japan tonight?

Destruction, sorrow

Covers the land,

Despair, loss

Regulates the heart.


Perhaps the moon presence

Is of little interest

And less comfort.

Perhaps sorrow goes too deep

To raise eyes above the graves.



Her gleam falls upon all

A compassionate blanketing

Of the Earth,

Softening the soiled,

Ravaged landscape,

A beacon of promise

Of the return to life,

Beauty to nature.




Two weeks and the cherry blossoms

Would have opened in Sendai.

Beautiful clouds of scented prayers

Falling upon upturned faces,

The eternal promise of hope for the earth,

Swept out to sea

With a good part of humanity.


I will sit beneath the moon tonight

Listening to frogs sing,

An owl in the woods

The birds settling in the dark—


My cherry tree is blooming

A small cloud of satin blossom–

I will count falling petals,

And offer these up as prayers.


Jane Kohut-Bartels,

Copyrighted 2011-2014

Some Tanka and a poem “Plum Blossom Snow”

March 15, 2014


Image from "Love Songs from the Man'yoshu"

Image from “Love Songs from the Man’yoshu”

We cut down the plum trees last fall and I miss their blossoms, usually the first blooms of spring here. And though the poem “Plum Blossom Snow” isn’t a new one, it makes me remember my trees.

I am comforted by the wild purple plum which blooms on the roadside in startling displays.

Lady Nyo

Let me not squander
The few good years I have left.
Each day the beauty,
The raw poignancy of life
Creates a desperation.

How could I forget
The beauty of the pale moon!
A face of sorrow
Growing thin upon the tide
Pulls my heart within its light.

Rain and moon tonight
Created confusion
Moon hides behind clouds
Fleeting clouds filter the rain
Moon appears– shoots silver

When I saw your head
Upon the pillow we shared
Was this forever?
I am left with a pillow-
Cold feathers holding a ghost.

Autumn wind startles–
Lowered to an ominous
Key—Ah! Mournful sounds!
The fat mountain deer listen-
Add their bellowing sorrow.

Answering echo-
One heart calls to another
A plucked string vibrates
The poetry of lovers
Kisses the roof of heaven!

Plum Blossom Snow

The present snowstorm of
White plum blossom

Blinds me to sorrow.

They cascade over cheeks
Like perfumed, satin tears
Too warm with the promise
of life to chill flesh.

Jane Kohut- Bartels
Copyrighted, 2014

Some of these tanka will go into the new book planned for later this fall, “The Nightingale’s Song”, to be published by Createspace ,

7 Spring Haiku, 1 Tanka, 1 Poem, 1 Cinquain….

May 7, 2013


Some Haiku…

A pale crescent moon
The sky colored lavender
Nothing more to wish.

Acid green pollen
Stains the landscape of spring
Life-force of Nature.

Morning glories bloom
Entangling wrought-iron fence
Cold metal warms.

Dawn east-sky moon glows
A thin half-cup spills on soil
Seeds stretch out their arms.

Under a crescent moon
The black soil of the garden
Life anticipates.

Tibetan earthworms
Bring a halt to all labor
Here? Feed lazy koi.

Swifts- dark crescent moons
Sickles cutting through the dusk
Tag the slower bats.

One Cinquain…

like infant ghosts
fall mute on tender grass,
the wind rocks their woody cradles,
lulls them.

One Tanka….

Smell of rose blossoms
draws me around a corner
A black cat sits there
The finest brocade can not
Equal his petal softness.

In the Garden at Dawn

Dawn east-sky moon gleam
A golden half-cup greets the garden,
Hands deep in soil
Planting tender shoots of life
With a reverence feeding the soul
As seedlings feed flesh later to come.

There is God in this black soil,
Earthworms and tiny bits of life
Independent of will or wishes.
Golden moonbeams spill on this tilled earth
Like a benediction or blessing,
And bathes plants and planter with promise.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2012-2016

“Blackberry Winter”, a poem about almost-spring…..

April 5, 2013

Wild Turkey

The most remarkable thing happened today. A neighbor called and said a wild turkey was in his back yard. This dear neighbor lives two houses from me, and our properties back into a 9 acre woods and now-dead kudzu field. I went out to see, and there was a wild hen turkey!

What is a wild turkey doing three miles from downtown Atlanta?? I have never seen a wild turkey that close (I got up to about 15 feet from this beautiful and LARGE bird) and I came prepared with a bowl of chicken food. She was amazing, maybe more so because she was in an urban setting? Was her GPS broken???

Well, I don’t know if they fly to great heights, but something made her land here. Perhaps the weather because instead of spring like temps, it felt more like Thanksgiving! Turkey eating time.

Today didn’t get above 49 degrees, and tonight it’s dipping into the 30’s. Blackberry Winter time…

Hopefully she will remain, but I better not tell my other neighbor, Bobby, who is a good hunter. The tease of a wild turkey might be too much for him and his shotgun.

By the way, I was followed by 8 cats who thought Mama was going on a field trip. They caught sight of the turkey and went up to investigate. It was funny to see cats acting like a bird dog. My bird dog was safely behind her fence for I knew that she would have torn after this lovely hen. Daphne is a year old, and a German Shorthaired Pointer. That turkey would have been another training exercise for her, but I don’t allow this behavior. She’s killed a few of my hens, but that is natural for a bird dog, I would suppose. I’m putting the turkey off limits to her instinct.

My beautiful picture

I thought I could shame my husband for ‘laying down with dogs’ but it backfired. He is hard to get up in the morning so I sent in the enforcers. They all went back to sleep. Galahad is the big mook on the left. Daphne is the chicken killer on the right. Husband brings home the bacon.

Lady Nyo


It is Blackberry Winter

One last shot across

The bow of an emerging Spring.

Winter does not play fair.

It will not give up the ghost

Exit with a dignified bow

preferring to show its last rotting tooth.

The blackberries are blooming.

White collar frills surrounding

Kernels of lusty fruit,

Soon to be black as midnight

Sweet as a baby’s kiss

Unavoidable staining of hands and mouths

To be shared with a snake or two down below.

The Easter planting is done

The earth knows Winter’s game

And blankets seed

With dark, moist soil

Cozy enough to shelter tender life.

We will make blackberry wine

From Blackberry Winter.

The present chill will

Sweeten the fruit

And we will give a toast

To Winter’s frayed glory.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2013

“Withered Fields”…..a poem from “Pitcher of Moon”

March 17, 2013
Canadian Geese in Early Winter, janekohut-bartels, watercolor, 2005

Canadian Geese in Early Winter, janekohut-bartels, watercolor, 2005

….to be published this spring some day. “Pitcher of Moon” is a collection of 35 poems over the past several years.

Lady Nyo

Withered Fields

Winter brings withered fields,
Hoar-frost covers stalks of grain,
And leaves a brittle hollow
Leached of color to a pale dun
A shade of nothingness,
Now snapped and dried twigs
Just to be called stubble,

Pale, thin air conspires in this withering
To starve the landscape surrounding,
A drawing of air not enough for life,
Too shallow for lungs, just a whistling down
brittle tubes of grain,
The ghostly sound of pipes,
A frozen Pan of the fields.

The north wind a
Howling scream, sweeping
The land before it
And only those far under ground
Are spared its crippling caress.

This withering of landscape
reflects within.
Age, infirmities, bring the cold inside
Where no amount of warm fire, wool,
Feet propped against a blazing fire
Can stem the ravages of what
Is happening outside
As it swirls under doors and through
Shut and shuttered windows.

Hands grow thin and clawed
Bones reluctant of movement,
Skin dry , itching —
A monk’s hair shirt
A penitence unbidden
But ours for the sin of growing old.

There is little to do
But crawl to the fire,
Wrap ourselves in solitude
And pray these withered fields
Obey the cycle of seasons
And fertility be reclaimed in time.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted 2012

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