A crack zigzags across the old sidewalk

And wrenches apart the hot concrete,
Exposing a tiny sliver of earth
That for years untold
Has known only crushing pain and darkness.

While above . . . days pass, weeks pass,
And Summer relinquishes its sovereignty to Autumn.
Leaves fall, scarlet and saffron and umber tears
Scurry and dance across the sad gray surface.
Revivified wings flap overhead, rain patters down.

A frigid gale rides in on the back of the North Wind.
Ice crystals settle in the divide, cold elbows
Pushing against the argentine walls
That are desperately struggling to hold together.
The frozen earth shivers beneath this fresh onslaught.

While above . . . days pass, weeks pass,
And Winter reluctantly surrenders its silver crown to Spring.
Lightning splits the sky, thunder rolls and rumbles.
A deluge pounds the sidewalk; a cool river races through the cleft,
Torturously prying it open to the warming world.

The raw earth nestled in the crack feels a pleasant stirring.
A tiny fledgling breaks its surface and stretches toward the sun.
Oaken soldiers flanking the sidewalk tip their glossy green heads
To watch the miracle of birth arising from the ashes of neglect.
The dandelion nods its golden head . . . free at last.

©️2023 jai

Image by Michelle Raponi from Pixabay


The morning is heavy, pregnant with spring.
Dew sparkles on the new blades stretched in mass,
Testing their new-found strength; in shouts of green,
They greet the rose-soft sunrise, raise their glass,
Salute their warm savior with verve and sass.
“Hello!” shout the iris, waving blue heads.
“Hello!” shout the tulips, white, pink, and red.

Near the barn, johnny-jump-ups perk their ears,
Wonder why the fuss from their vain cousins.
After all, from early March they’ve been here,
Yellow and purple, dozens and dozens.
Popping up while the ground is yet frozen,
Johnnys are trailblazers, fearless and bold.
What’s the big deal about a little cold?

©2023 jai

rhyme royal

Image via Gerri Duke

March Chimes

March chimes tinkle in the wind

Telling me spring is on the way,

Chasing away dark winter days.

And I wonder where the wind has been.

Unlike winter, spring sports a grin,

All toothy gold, warm, and gay.

March chimes tinkle in the wind,

Telling me spring is on the way.

Sometimes brash, chimes dance, drunk on gin.

Or perhaps, weed entered the fray.

Drunk or high or merry, who’s to say?

They jump and jingle as they spin—

March chimes tinkle in the wind,

Telling me spring is on the way.

©️2023 jai


(Author’s note: written for my mother, whose favorite season was spring.)

Image via Morguefile