Wildflowers

Long ago in another, kinder time
Two wildflowers grew sheltered in the yard.
One emerged first, thought this fertile place fine,
Bloomed the palest of yellow, then stood guard
As the smaller one poked up, the climb hard;
But not as hard as it was for Yellow
Who blazed the way for the tiny fellow.

In time, the small one bloomed stubborn and red,
Danced with Yellow through the balmy, bright days.
Together, they slept in the tulip bed
At night, ‘neath a star-studded, velvet haze,
And basked in Spring’s eyes, her warm, loving gaze.
Happy and content, they remained well hid
Among the proud tulips, safe from vile men.

Then, without warning pale Yellow was plucked
And thrown from the bed over the tall fence,
While Red survived because she swiftly ducked.
Lonely, Red wondered where Yellow went hence,
That her companion was gone, made no sense.
Red was a survivor, though, and held tight,
But soon was snatched up, yanked hard and took flight.

Over the tall, safe fence, Red also sailed,
Landed roots first in an open meadow
Chock-full of other wilds, spooking a quail.
Red asked, “Have you seen a bloom of yellow?”
Pointing its brown wing, “There!” the quail bellowed.
Red tracked the wing, saw pale Yellow nearby,
Waving gay petals ‘neath the clear, blue sky.

Playing in the green meadow God had made,
Pale Yellow and Red spent all summer’s time
Till a fall wind blew Yellow far away
To a place Red searched for but could not find.
There, Yellow nurtures small others of kind.
Red wandered the field, in time fading pink,
Reached the far side, now withers in concrete.

©️2021 KT Workman



(Note: rhyme royal poem—7-line stanzas, 10 syllables per line, written in iambic pentameter.

Rhyme scheme: a-b-a-b-b-c-c)


Image by Annette Meyer from Pixabay

Little Fish

Above the torpid water, summer sleeps
as the creek meanders along its way.
Big fish slumber in the shore-shaded deep;
in the reedy shallows, little fish play,
young and bold, they care not about the day.
They dart and splash, chase crawdads and minnows,
joyous with life, not like the old fellows.

©2021 KT Workman

(Note: Rhyme royal—7 lines long, 10 syllables per line.
Rhyme scheme: a-b-a-b-b-c-c)

Image by MeHe from Pixabay

Johnnys

The morning is heavy, pregnant with spring.

Dew sparkles on the new blades stretched in mass,

Testing their new-found strength; in shouts of green

They greet the rose-soft sunrise, raise their glass,

Salute their warm savior with verve and sass.

“Hello!” shout the iris, waving blue heads.

“Hello!” shout the glads, white, pink, and red.

Near the barn, johnny-jump-ups perk their ears,

Wonder why the fuss from their vain cousins.

After all, from early March they’ve been here,

Yellow and purple, dozens and dozens,

Popping up while the ground is yet frozen.

Johnny’s are trailblazers, fearless and bold.

What’s the big deal about a little cold?

©2021 KT Workman

(Rhyme Royal–7-line stanzas, usually iambic pentameter. Rhyme scheme: a-b-a-b-b-c-c)

Image by Couleur from Pixabay