I cast my faith on daffodils…

I cast my faith on daffodils –
on the steadfastness of green
and promises of gold

I can believe in the movements
of worms, shaking up earth
beyond visible proof

I accept the testimony of buds
before their exhalations –
modest currency of Spring

I can discern a mystery in dirt
and a truth rests in my spine –
that some bright morning
the burgeoning will arrive

© Sarah Whiteley

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press.

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heartwood

our days of heavy snow
have shattered the plum trees –
snapped their branches until
they stand now in the night
silent as broken men

the rain now exposes them,
these splits in branch
and dangling bough –
only Spring will ascertain
whether the heartwood sustains

© Sarah Whiteley

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press.

the restitution for winter

the restitution for winter is this –

the modest wink of a wood violet,
a bit of bright among
the passing season’s debris

© Sarah Whiteley

I suspect that this is a snippet I will eventually expand upon. But for now, I think a nice little reminder that there is hope amidst the cold is fitting. Keep safe out there!

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press.

reading Milosz on the porch in March

it must be March –

this morning
the quince blooms
and two crows
sit on the porch rail
trading gentle preenings
between them,
beside me,
while I am sipping
rapidly cooling coffee
and reading
my tattered Milosz,
thinking about how even black
might just be luminous
when embodied by feathers
and emboldened thus
by the merest blink
of gathering Spring

© Sarah Whiteley

the house finches

the house finches have
changed their song again –
to one of fierce joy,
of emphatic nest-lust

it seems almost too soon
for such passion,
with snow still gathered,
blue in the shadows
of the north-facing stones

then again, some songs exist
simply to remind us
it may never be too soon,
yet sometimes it is
quite plainly too late

© Sarah Whiteley

April windstorm

the winds that rushed in yesterday
to strip branches of their blooms
flipped trash can lids, sent them
spinning down the street,

cast crows into chaotic aeronautics
and sent all songbirds deep
into their shrubbed shelters

but today, they come out singing
blithely tumbling between trees,
the sidewalks surprised by pink –
awash in piles of petals

© Sarah Whiteley