spring rain
tapping into the subconscious
the sound of downpour
hitting the asphalt
©A. D. Joyce, 2018
spring rain
tapping into the subconscious
the sound of downpour
hitting the asphalt
©A. D. Joyce, 2018
my darling spring
harmony of sunlight
and gentle breeze
the scent of newness
buds opening
this is what love is
always growing
tender
delicate
the quiver of your lips
my quickening breath
sweetness
these temperate days
©A. D. Joyce, 2018
lately
if spring should appear
may is merely
minutes away
with a few cherry blossoms
pink and white
frosted over
many green buds
stillborn
and rain showers
cold
gray
not like the aprils
when i was young
or was that a dream
this is why we aspire to ascend
to leave the dirt and dust behind
©A. D. Joyce, 2018
caught a dandelion seed
in midair
a spring poem
written on the fly
©A. D. Joyce, 2018
the falling rain
and the subtlety it implies
the water of life
nourishment
growth
cleansing
rebirth
grace
a bed of flowers blooming
the newness of spring
with explicit meaning
standing in the shadows
cold
wet
uncontrollable
not giving a damn
about our joy
or inconvenience
©A. D. Joyce, 2018
early spring is the shadow of summer
it is inconsistent
and subject to a random snow
it fears commitment to the sun
buds on the branches
hang shyly in the balance
how i need your summertime
to shine on me
but if ever the skies
refuse to rain
don’t scorch me
in the drought
and come december
don’t leave me
forsake the passage of time
©A. D. Joyce, 2018
i came here to love you
through lifetimes
i have sought you
in every pair of eyes
i have strained against
the touch of hands
needing to feel your essence
and in spring
when the air reeks
of rain and dirt
i pick your flowers
and see your face
strewn among
the fallen cherry blossoms
i am not here
on this earth
to pull punches
i am here to express
i unbalance the equinox
with poems
obsessive and fevered
this is the promise
my soul makes
time and again
in each incarnation
and life form i inhabit
on this brand new day
i awake in the hope
you will soon be here
with me
©A. D. Joyce, 2017
The wind chimes give
the cold air a voice
in an April
reluctant to spring.
The morning birds
sing on
in sparse trees
still budding.
©A. D. Joyce, 2014
winter’s breath
awakens spring
shadows of ice
form puddles
on the sidewalk
©A. D. Joyce, 2014