N is for North: a poem

On Spring, North of 60

The seeking rays of the sun, golden in the perfect clearness of the returning morning light have found the hippy-heart crystals in my window and are casting rainbows of colour onto my walls and kitchen floor, causing the cat to dance madly from spark to spark of sapphire, emerald, ruby, tangerine and turquoise…

Bohemian Waxwings, those chirruping, silky, summer-time fly catchers, winter-time fruit-eaters, flit in undulating flocks from blue-red mayday to orange-red mountain ash and back again, solely to brighten my afternoon with their soft, mysterious calls.

When daylight finally agrees to stay for supper and when the evening meal is done we will toast ourselves cherry-red by the fire and admire the stars shining valiantly through the rippling green fingers of the Northern Lights.

Let us go to bed and browse the seed catalogues.
Winter begins in spring.

~Nita Collins, September 2014

 NI’m participating in the Blogging From A-Z challenge.  One blog post for each letter of the alphabet, each day of April (except Sunday). 

Summer Thunderstorm

We sit on the porch swing
under a crochet afghan
thunder
grumbles around us
lightening
sends the rain
driving down
chill wind brings
shivers
of delight

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Dear Maya Angelou

Dear Madame Angelou,
I was so sad to hear of your passing this morning. Perhaps your physical presence has moved on, but your influence will be with me forever. The words of your poem, Phenomenal Woman, influence who I am every time I read them. Thank you for teaching me how powerful I can be if I allow it. You showed me that my power resides in the arch of my back, the sun of my smile, the ride of my breasts, and the grace of my style. Thank you for mentoring my generation.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Maya Angelou

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