in the measure of spring by Joseph A. Farina (MY FRONT DOOR Series)

in the measure of spring
by Joseph A. Farina

outside the open door
half the horizon
holds up an illusory sky
barren fields melting
form their own inviolate border
a lone raven lifts its wings
a shadow over muddy mirrors

stacked summer chairs wait
to be used again defrosting
in the returned sunshine

the air whispers a tentative welcome
the scene floating weightless
mirage-like change begins
the resurrection unfolding before tired eyes
the contours of earth reappearing

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Joseph A Farina is a retired lawyer in Sarnia, Ontario, Canada. Several of his poems have been published in  Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine, Ascent ,Subterranean  Blue  and in The Tower Poetry Magazine, Inscribed, The Windsor Review, Boxcar Poetry Revue , and appears in the anthology Sweet Lemons: Writings with a Sicilian Accent, and in the anthology Witness from Serengeti Press. He has had poems published in the U.S. magazines Mobius, Pyramid Arts, Arabesques, Fiele-Festa, Philedelphia Poets, and  Memoir (and)  as well as in the Silver Birch Press “Me, at Seventeen”  Series. He has had two books of poetry published—The Cancer Chronicles  and The Ghosts of Water Street.

Front Door Denizens by Sarah Russell (MY FRONT DOOR Series)

Front Door Denizens
by Sarah Russell

The door itself is nondescript, a faded forest green, like others in the complex. Yesterday I hung our cherry blossom wreath on its hook, dancing pink blossoms against the dark panel. The remnants of our finches’ old nest⸺intricate grass lace and a bit of mud for glue⸺hide in the silk flowers. The finches come back every spring, and this morning, there they were, flitting from porch to maple tree, warbling a love song, as if they’d been waiting for their wreath, our door. While they’re in residence, we’ll put a note on the post asking folks to come round to the back.

old nest with new life
open mouths searching, peeping
daffodils in bloom

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: The Haibun form seemed perfect for telling about the finch family who leases our front door and wreath every year. The above photo is of their eggs last spring.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sarah Russell’s poetry and fiction have been published in Kentucky Review, Red River Review, Misfit Magazine, Silver Birch Press, Rusty Truck, Third Wednesday, and other journals and anthologies. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee. Her first poetry collection, I lost summer somewhere, was published in 2019 by Kelsay Books. A second collection, Today and Other Seasons, will be published by Kelsay this summer. She blogs at SarahRussellPoetry.net.

Flavours of May, poem by Brinda Buljore (May Poetry Series)

Flavours of May
by Brinda Buljore

blending textures of
seasoning sunshine
together with winter hues
 
tall filaments become
seeds of luck and
petals of fate
 
kneading the dough
of fright and faith
into malleable stars
 
substance thin
like muslin yet
resistant as silk
 
May morning brings
stamina and vigour
rolling down the stairs
 
bridging the taste
within the flavours of life
to the pestle of destiny

ABOUT THE POET/PHOTOGRAPHER: Brinda Buljore is a writer and artist who lives in Paris.

PHOTO: “Muguet, French Moments” by Brinda Buljore, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

NOTE: King Charles IX of France received lily of the valley (muguet) flowers as a lucky charm on May 1, 1561. He liked the gift and decided to present the flowers — known for their delightful scent — to the ladies of his court each year on May 1. Around 1900, men started to bring their sweethearts bouquets of lily of the valley flowers as a symbol of springtime. On April 23, 1919, the eight-hour working day was officially introduced in France, and May 1 became a public holiday. May Day was not observed during World War II, but again became a public holiday in 1947. May 1 officially became known as La Fête du Travail (Labor Day) on April 29, 1948. In France, May 1st remains an occasion to present lily of the valley flowers to loved ones.

While It Was May, poem by Disha Dinesh Sahni (May Poetry Series)

WHILE IT WAS MAY . . . 
by Disha Dinesh Sahni

For my eyes were bright
And the Sun blinked away
While, it was May.
My blue cloak was busy painting the sky,
The green mantle shading the grass.

For my eyes were still
And the trees went away.
While, it was May
My cheeks were blushing the apple red
My heart filling the semblance with love

For my eyes were raining
And the world rejuvenated away.
While, it was May
My tears dewed the grass
Tenebrous tresses embroiling with the empyrean

For my eyes were opened
And the night henced away!
While, it was May!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Disha Dinesh Sahni is pursuing a Bachelor’s Degree in Industrial and Production Engineering from Jabalpur Engineering College in India. Currently a poetess at Keynotes Poets and writers, Sacramento, California, she is an author at Creative Talents Unleashed.

PAINTING: “The Maypole” by Peter Miller. Prints available at fineartamerica.com. Read more about the maypole at wikipedia.org.

Planning May, poem by Paul Nebenzahl (May Poetry Series)

PLANNING MAY
by Paul Nebenzahl

(Forth from pen the plan unfolds
I am mapping the light fantastic, the
End of April teasing me with cool
Nights and teary-eyed dream-pen days
Calming out air-traveling thoughts + a dew-stalking lens)

May’s start

Running to Vienna down
Streets transferred buck to sole
And into the yellow fields, a black cloth over hidden murder camps
Listening to the Gypsy wind, standing with
Fired clay in pockets, with hands outstretched

by May mid month

I’m moving east packing enchanted boxes my fingers tapping
Head laying astride up old Hudson River, water flowing south
Jimmied out Nyack across the water steady rocking
Our light travels water west to Edward Hopper’s house
Gifting ‘round our world Rex-ly miracle color-y eyes

I Hope May

To plant two gardens, to elongate splashed flair hues @ waterside Sleepy Hollow
+ Plant in Asheville, North Carolina what needs my hands, there
Where the road to nowhere
Has never been more determined
To end up somewhere

As May ends

All my dreams will come true and still where is the vanished, vanquished plane?
June will unfold we’ll be looking ‘neath ocean for that plane on the floor, then
I will be the water thundering the rocking boats under your willows
Whistling up the ever windy ‘long craggy Palisades aft fore
That comes my pretty penny way

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Paul Nebenzahl is a writer, musician, and painter who lives in Evanston, Illinois, and Sleepy Hollow, New York. As a performing multi-instrumentalist, and composer, Paul has created works for film and television, and has performed extensively in theater, stage, and club settings. In 2012, Paul’s poem “Gusen Station” was published in English, Italian and German by the International Committee for Mauthausen and Gusen. His poem “Charles Bukowski” appears in the Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology (2013) and “Here’s to the Singer of Songs” is featured in the Silver Birch Press Summer Anthology (2013). He is the author of Black Shroud with Rainbow Fringes: Poems 2010-2013 (Silver Birch Press, 2014), available at Amazon.com.

Oh! That We Two Were Maying, poem by Charles Kingsley

OH! THAT WE TWO WERE MAYING (Excerpt)
by Charles Kingsley

Oh! that we two were Maying
Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
Like children with violets playing
In the shade of the whispering trees.

MORE: Read “Oh! That We Two Were Maying” by Charles Kingsley in its entirety at poemhunter.com.

IMAGE: “Spring Violets on White” by Elena Elisseeva. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Charles Kingsley (1919-1875) was a priest of the Church of England, university professor, historian, poet, and novelist. His novel Westward Ho! led to the founding of a town by the same name (the only place name in England that contains an exclamation mark).

Grey (doesn’t always) Matter, poem by Jacque Stukowski (May Poetry Series)

Grey (doesn’t always) Matter
by Jacque Stukowski

G is for this dull grey April day.

The blanket of solid clouds as far as the eye can see, dampens my mood severely. Even just a thought of small ray of May sunshine gives me the tiniest glimmer of hope that my grey-matter is so desperately in need of now.

As I sit staring out at the frigid, icy waters of the Fox River, the ducks seem immune to the dark slate skies. The Mergansers are back in town, and as the dive and duck under the cool semi-flowing waters, they seem glad to be back to this river they call home. Their quacks tell me that spring is coming soon-but not today.

The horizon speaks of what looms, yet those dark gloomy storm clouds can’t suppress the many signs that spring is near.

The ducks arrival on the river, small buds forming on the trees, birds chirping happy sounds, the cool crisp Northern air smell sweet like spring dew.

Even while my mood is somber from the blanket of grey overhead, I wrap myself up in these other signs of spring, knowing that even the forecasted winter storm can’t get me down!

The signs are clear SPRING IS NEAR!

Signs of hope, but only if we look and listen quietly to see the signs…

Today, my hope came in the form of a quack, quacking!

Thanks to the playful splashing of Merganser ducks, I’m smiling
those clouds of grey away because May is almost here!

PHOTO: “Common Mergansers, Fox River, Illinois” by JPatR, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jacque Stukowski‘s blog God[isms] is her personal space to vent and share stories of growth through life’s ups and downs living with BP and ADHD. It’s a place where her writing and photos collide with spirituality, a dash of 12 steps, and a sprinkle of the daily trials of being a Christian wife, mother of two boys, and a full-time graphic designer. She frequently uses metaphors and symbolism to connect the reader to real life things in nature to convey the message she’s writing about.

Spring Haiku by Issa

SPRING HAIKU
by Issa

may the wind send
this plum blossom scent
to Kyoto!

IMAGE: “Plum Blossoms” by Cindy Lee Longhini. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828) was a Japanese poet and Buddhist priest of the Jōdo Shinshū sect known for his haiku poems and journals. He is better known as simply Issa, a pen name meaning Cup-of-tea. He is regarded as one of the four haiku masters in Japan, along with Bashō, Buson, and Shiki.

May Haiku by Matsuo Bashō

MAY HAIKU
by Matsuo Bashō

The sun’s way:
hollyhocks turn toward it
through all the rains of May.

IMAGE: “Hollyhocks,” watercolor by H. Cooper. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694) was the most famous poet of the Edo period in Japan. During his lifetime, Bashō was recognized for his works in the collaborative haikai no renga form; today, he is recognized as the greatest master of haiku (then called hokku). He made a living as a teacher, but renounced urban life to wander throughout the country to gain inspiration for his writing.

The Trees, poem by Philip Larkin

THE TREES
by Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old?
No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

PHOTO: “Branches with Green Spring Leaves” by Elena Elisseeva. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Philip Arthur Larkin (1922–1985) was an English poet, novelist, and librarian. His first book of poetry, The North Ship, was published in 1945, followed by two novels, Jill (1946) and A Girl in Winter (1947), and he came to prominence in 1955 with the publication of his second collection of poems, The Less Deceived, followed by The Whitsun Weddings (1964) and High Windows (1974). He contributed to The Daily Telegraph as its jazz critic from 1961 to 1971, articles gathered in All What Jazz: A Record Diary 1961–71 (1985), and he edited The Oxford Book of Twentieth Century English Verse (1973). His many honours include the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry.