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| photo by Karen Boudreaux, NOLA, used by permission |
Fireworks have nothing on me,
no man-made show can match
this explosive display.
Shocking green here,
shouting magenta there,
showy white front and center.
No gunpowder could blow
breezes like this
to bristle trees,
to “whoosh” the wind
across the skies,
no factory fierce enough
to produce this bright beauty.
Spring’s verb says
the growing will never stop,
but will flow from a fire
deep in the dark,
earth-wise,
shoved to the surface,
erupting when you’re not looking.
Spring’s verb comes from nowhere
but Godwhere.
Spring’s verb says ‘get ready.’
~~~~~~~~~~
no man-made show can match
this explosive display.
Shocking green here,
shouting magenta there,
showy white front and center.
No gunpowder could blow
breezes like this
to bristle trees,
to “whoosh” the wind
across the skies,
no factory fierce enough
to produce this bright beauty.
Spring’s verb says
the growing will never stop,
but will flow from a fire
deep in the dark,
earth-wise,
shoved to the surface,
erupting when you’re not looking.
Spring’s verb comes from nowhere
but Godwhere.
Spring’s verb says ‘get ready.’
~~~~~~~~~~
This poem was prompted by the first line in a poetry book, ‘Mischief Cafe’,
and the sound of this Easter song in my head.
previously published on my blog Three Way Light
"Godwhere" Love that! :)
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