Today I’m feeling all the feels that come with the changing of seasons. The air is warm, the sky is blue, the birds are flirting with each other nonstop.
April is National Poetry Month (in America)! So take a few minutes to enjoy some fun springtime poems by yours truly to celebrate the joy of Spring, my favorite season.
Come, Be Wild With Me
Come, be wild with me
in my rebellious yard.
Come roll on confetti carpets
of chickweed and violets,
and run your toes through unruly locks
of white clover and plantain.
Dance with the dandelions who polka-dot the green
like frothy fireworks and miniature suns.
This psychedelic lawn
is a painting of pointillism protest.
We’re rioting against Round-Up;
we’re organizing out here;
opposing the pellets of poison
dropped on the dirt like a nutrient-rich napalm.
Dreadlocks of ground ivy gather
by the neighbor’s gate in peaceful dissent,
while runners of stray suburban strawberry
muster across invisible battle lines
to challenge the stately vert ranks
of his well-mown militia.
Put your ear to the dirt and hum with us
a rally strong and steady,
Hello no, we won’t go!
Don’t spray us, just let us grow!
Hell no, we’re here to stay!
No atrazine, penoxsulam or NPK!
©Vixen Lea 2021
Hello, Spring
Unfolding
like a curled child
skin pressed by sleep,
spring blinks awake.
What a gift every year!
a treat saved back all winter
to be found again in bloom
and bird and breeze.
I never understood
people who choose
to live in a place
without seasons.
Unfurling
like a shy lover
head bowed, lashes lifted
each petal swells
In anticipation—
with a blush
just warm enough
to melt the frost.
It happens every year,
but it is always
a rush—
like the first time;
A titter of titillation
as shivering blossoms
offer a sneak peak—
pink and round and
Exposed;
and the relief
we feel as newness
bursts us open!
A flicker
of that fervor
of forgotten youth;
a reminder
Of how
much
fun
life really is.
©Vixen Lea 2021
Crocus
It’s too cold!
yells the nagging wind.
You’ll freeze to death out here,
whispers the pessimistic snow.
You’ll never survive the nibbling deer,
chatters the bossy squirrel.
Crocus don’t care.
Her bold adolescent sprouts
push aside last year’s leaves
and she reaches up to
poke at the glimmering sun.
No one’s gonna tell her
what she can or can’t do.
Watch me,
she tells that know-it-all squirrel
and kicks away the tag-a-long flakes.
Flicking a green middle finger to the icy wind
she rises, fierce and fearless.
This party can start now that Crocus is here,
turning heads and making a scene.
like the badass bulb her momma raised her to be.
©Vixen Lea 2021
I share most of my poetry under the pseudonym Vixen Lea on Medium.com. If you liked these poems, please check out my latest poem published on The POM (a Medium poetry collective) for a bit of silliness:
a poem by Vixen Lea
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Waking up Razzle-Dazzle 