With a snowy blanket to ward of the chill,
deep in the forest a den lay still.
Then spring arrives, eyes soon gaze,
all that’s missed in the winter’s haze.
The most daring, of course, popped out first,
the second unsure but for their thirst.
While the last clung to their hungry mom,
till out she burst, not seeking calm.
In the new light the young family squinted.
Then in a blink the awed group splintered.
Mama was busy with breakfast in her sights.
The cubs were curious of nature’s delights.
Full of fear the timid cub sat alone.
With teary eyes closed all was unknown.
The adventurous pair now frolicked out of view.
Mama roared and they all knew what to do.
Back at the den the family again met.
Mama spoke firmly and new rules set.
Wherever she goes the cubs will too.
And what she says is what they’ll do.
Each a reason to not like what was said.
Each had ideas in their very own head.
Sticking together down the path they forged,
when new grass found for all to gorge.
A stream nearby was sure to taste nice,
it’s wintry fresh but cold as ice.
The foolish pair dove in and quickly back out.
The timid one laughed and mama was in doubt.
For the cubs it was their second spring.
But mama feared they hadn’t learned a thing.
Their season’s short with much to do.
Will her cubs be ready, she hadn’t a clue.
Back safe in their den all were glad,
bellies were full and fun was had.
The next day started much the same.
For two of the cubs it all seemed a game.
Grabbing for a beehive and to their surprise,
this prickled pair soon felt it unwise.
Fallen from the tree to roll down the hill,
a vacant hive was about to thrill.
While the humbled duo ran off in fright.
The shy little cub had lunch in sight.
With hardly a care they lunged for the treat.
Head first they met, the greeting sweet.
Mama returned hearing her cubs horrid wail.
But seeing her sticky one she knew the tale.
With a quick loving lick down the path she rushed.
At least for now one cub was hushed
Back at the stream the others found unharmed.
Mama’s relieved though still alarmed.
Did the cubs recall or was it a whim;
a lesson learned that bees can’t swim.
The bears then flew back, hasty to arrive.
There they all dove into that tasty hive.
The cubs soon napped and mama felt less fear.
And this is barely a story, unless you’re a bear.
Thanks to all my many a friend.
My heart and mind’s on the mend.
The road behind bumpy and long,
twists and turns, some wrong.
Paths ahead are better viewed;
time’s taught life’s skewed.
All that’s known is there’s usually doubt.
But the ups and downs average out.
Like suns and moons we all rise and set.
And with changing seasons we freeze or sweat.
Grounding’s found in what’s always there,
the love of friends with time we share.
Through willow filtered sunshine,
I feel your reflections and you mine.
With introversion my biggest fear,
with hidden face my love I declare.
In glistening pools of gentle light,
my heart waves to the mind’s fright.
If lives written our columns divide,
moments unmirrored to cast aside.
Hands ever closer the time does drift,
the moon creates our daily shift.
In the dark our eyes meet,
together enlightened tomorrows we’ll greet.
There once an old dude,
who was quite crude,
the town folk thought him rude.
After many a year in love he fell,
his flame however said “go to hell”.
His desires she’d never quell.
A stormy winter slowly passed by.
Accustomed to rejection, the dude wasn’t shy.
And persistent he was to always ask why.
The spring finally came,
his flame stayed the same,
himself the dude thought to blame.
The summer surely hot,
the dude surely not,
his cool long since shot.
Autumn’s bluster in the air,
his flame did flicker, he did flare.
The time had tempered each with care.
With a Christmas snow soon to arrive,
fire and ice made water to dive.
His flame’s heart thawed and their love did thrive.
Reservation and hesitation,
a parting of heart and mind,
remaining only consolation,
as our instincts have defined.
To write from one’s heart,
the sweetest of art,
Valentine’s every day.
To write from ones soul,
a most serious goal,
but stillness has its sway.
To write from the head,
the world’s just our way.
In time and space and geography’s place;
people rush by, each a new face.
All’s directing a no act play.
Scenes overlap and curtains fall,
script’s blank await the call.
Silence screams its say.
A choice to write’s a right to choose.
When darkness consumes the bright side we lose,
left only with blue and gray.
If a life imagined we’re to create,
chapters mate and thoughts relate.
The end’s let to stray.
Awaiting the sunrise,
starlight fills sleepy eyes,
coffee’s brewing brighter skies.
I feel today’s a happy day.
Clearing is the persistent gray.
And spring’s finally on its way.
Summer’s next, heart’s to thaw.
The beats of two inspire with awe.
Sunset’s as one an unimagined draw.
With a change of hue fall we’ll thirst,
a future’s quenched well-rehearsed.
But I think I need my second cup first.