“Spring Can’t Wait”….poem.

(Tulips a few seasons ago….tulips don’t do well in the South.)

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Soft late-winter night
Where the moon rides the sky
Like a beggar’s cup one-fourth filled.
The skeleton trees are silhouetted
Against the horizon
As light folds into dark velvet.

He remembers her skin,
Tender, warm,
Powdered bo silk,
Breasts full like
The cup of the moon–
The shape, not the level.

She spills over
Like melons of summer.

Warm sake in hand
He salutes the sky,
Moon and now winking stars
And sees that Spring
Has over-taken the land.
Winter’s hand still rough on the
Earth, but Spring, eternal and forever
Bids Winter move its carcass—
Give room for the birth of the earth.

Haunting notes of a Shakuhachi flute
Floats in the chilly wind….

Eternal, whirling dance
From season to season,
Never tiring in effort,
Surprises with earliest snowbells
And the first shy crocus.
The red maple is bursting
With carmine pompoms on bare branches.
Soon plum trees will prove as vital.

The earth’s gestation is in the air,
And life is seducing with promise.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2017

 

 

 

Happy Easter!!! and a poem, “Bhava Yoga”

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It is spring in the south, and the storms are brewing to the west of Atlanta.  This is the usual course of events, and over the past years the thunderstorms have brought violent weather, tornadoes, hail and flooding rains.  It is Easter in a matter of days, and the weather promises to behave, bringing a gorgeous Easter Sunday morning.  I hope so, but the skies right now look menacing enough, and we will have to take the good with the bad.

The picture above is of my front garden last night before dark.  Last fall I planted 300 bulbs, of daffodils, tulips and crocus.  About 50 tulips have come up, but because they are more a cold weather bulb, they will have to be replanted next fall.  Or….I can get in there and dig them up and put them in cold storage.  Either way, they make a lovely show in a small part of the front garden.

Happy Easter!

Lady Nyo

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Bhava Yoga

 

Morning’s roseate sky

Has been blasted away,

Branches now whirligigs

Swirl with a fierce southern wind

As windows rattle in frames.

A tattered umbrella

Shades from a relentless sun.

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I listen to Bhava Yoga

The vibration of Love,

Where imagination meets

Memory in the dark.

Yet surrounding these soothing tones

The world outside this music

Conspires to disrupt, sweep away

Any centered down thought, reflection.

–

The fierce wind demands my attention.

–

Still, the pulse of Bhava Yoga

Draws me within,

Feeds imagination with memory,

Calls forth something as enduring as the fury outside,

And I feel the pulse of the infinite.

–

Our lives are lived in the spheres of

Inside/outside

And we are like birds,

Clinging with dulled claws to

The swaying branches of life.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2012

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from:  “Pitcher of Moon”, 2014,  available at Createspace, Amazon.com

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