The Daffodils on the Edge of the Woods

For Posery at dVerse and Earthweal: Finding Hope

Haibun: The Daffodils on the Edge of the Woods
“She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbor: “Winter is dead.”
― A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young

We bought our house and moved in in October. We planted daffodils all around the house. In the spring they burst into bloom and trumpeted spring. I noticed across the road, a bunch of wild daffodils, growing on their own. They splayed their greenness, displayed their golden heads among the dead leaves and bare trees. They became my favorite clump of daffodils and I looked forward to them every year. This year, they are growing, blooming. I saw them as I drove past on the narrow road by our house. I stopped and admired them. I began to cry to as I looked at them – the clump of a half-dozen blooms. I looked up at the spring blue sky with mackerel clouds. As much as I missed Brad, there was hope there. The sky would be blue, the daffodils would bloom, the birds would sing in the trees. There are moments caught between heart-beats, between tears and smiles. I wiped my eyes and bent down and kissed the blooms. Hope, I whispered. Hope.
trumpets of gold
proclaim spring –
proclaim life

Bulbs and Bees

A haibun on the subject of spring for dVerse Poets Pub haibun Monday.  I prefer the haibun in the manner of Basho rather than the long descriptive westernized haibun.  This is also linked to Earthweal whose subject is renewal.

 

Bulbs and Bees
“To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.” William Wordsworth

Bulbs and Bees
When we moved into this house, my husband and I planted a few hundred daffodil bulbs to naturalize among the trees and boundary lines. Every year, they come up among the fallen dead leaves, pushing them out of the way. Then they begin to bloom – such sweetness of fragrance that lifts my heart. The bees come awake about this time of year. I press my stethoscope against the hive listening to them buzz. I must confess to stroking the green fronds of the daffodil and weeping as I remember Brad and I planting the bulbs so happily that first autumn we lived in our home. Such joy we shared with each other and with the creatures of the woods and of course, my bees. Every year the daffodils return bringing spring on its heels.
gazing at the blue skies
the colour of his eyes –
I smile at the clouds

 

 

Kissing a Daffodil

Kissing a Daffodil
“The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer.” Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

once when I was a child I pulled green blades
of a daffodil still wet with rain. I wanted to see how
it tasted. I placed the green blade
between my lips – slowly pulling using
my tongue to feel the sharp edge and the soft green
and the cold wetness of it.
years later after kendo
we stood in the rain
and you kissed me. Daffodil lips
you had and I drank in their cool
wetness and my tongue probed the sharp
edges of your teeth and the slightly
bitter taste of your lips – cherry blossom
fingers traced my cheek fluttering
falling to land on my left breast
and stay there – light and clinging.
our love was spring  before
it became the sound of a distant crow
echoing across the cold dry field
of goodbye.

Haibun: Smudgy Moon

For Real Toads, Margaret’s picture prompt of retro-paintings and for OLN at dVerse Poets Pub.

Haibun: Smudgy Moon
“She had a beautiful laugh which was like rain water pouring over daffodils made from silver.”
― Richard Brautigan, Sombrero Fallout

Yellow in the sky. Is it the moon setting or is the sun rising? The trees are a smudged backdrop to the moon. Birds are twittering, a distant dog barks. The flowers in my yard bloom boldly in the half-darkness, reflecting the moon.
daylight savings time –
daffodils don’t care about time –
they bloom in their own time

dVerse Poets Pub: Haibun Monday – The Best Things in Life are Free

Monday I am doing the prompt for Haibun Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub after a fairly long absence. While a bit stressful, it is still good to be back in the Pub writing prompts and reading and commenting on poems. My prompt for everyone is: the best things in life are free – as in without cost – not liberated from something – one of the other meanings of “free”…Come nd join us for the prompt on 02/20/2017.  Haibun Monday – The Best Things in Life are Free

Daffodils are Free!
Daffodils. I love them. I wait for them to come up every year in the very early spring. This year with the winter being so warm, you can spot clusters of green spears springing up from the dead winter grass or they are topped with the golden flowers. The smell of daffodils – I have yet to smell anything that smells like them. A heady mix of honey, jasmine, and butter – the perfume of them has not and probably never will be duplicated. Watching them blowing in the wind or dripping with rain or sticking out of snow, one can only sigh and know we are looking at one of our Creator’s most beautiful miracles. Ever since I was a child, I have loved them and I love them still at the grand old age of 65. They still make me smile, no matter how hard, sad, grey, or difficult the day has been.

Once when I was a child I pulled green blades of a daffodil still wet with rain. I wanted to see how  it tasted. I placed the green blade between my lips – slowly pulling using my tongue to feel the sharp edge and the soft green and the cold wetness of it. Years later after kendo, my lover and I stood in the rain and kissed. He had daffodil lips and I drank in their cool wetness and my tongue probed the sharp edges of his teeth and the slightly bitter taste of his lips.

in the spring rain
daffodils bloom with hope – true
love is in the air

public domain photo

 

The Fragrance of Daffodils

A single bloom is
shy, elusive, delicate.
A handful of blooms
Is romantic, intoxicating
and never to be duplicated.

The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of springtime
as a child.
The first bloom discovered
a treasure beyond price.

The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of my father,
one in his lapel,
portable sun going where
he went, making all smile.

The fragrance of daffodils
filled our home the night
he died. They bloomed early
that year. He went out and picked
all the blooms to save them
from a killing ice storm.

Every vase held daffodils.
Hundreds of them.
The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of protection,
of a gentle soul
who could not bear that
one single bloom
would be lost.

The fragrance of daffodils
is the smell of love
and the smell spring
and the smell of a memory
that blooms always in my heart.