[RCL]

Oxymoronic Don

Long proud as "Teflon Don,"
This spring he’s "Honest Don."

As the world rolls its eyes,
He manifests his lies.

[RCL]

Spring Rains

One April Sunday, several months after grandpa’s funeral, Dad and I drive in search of wild asparagus, cruising side roads near our home on the outskirts of Ann Arbor. He drives slowly and I soon spot a patch. Eagerly wading in, I trip and fall forward, face to face with a human skull. It’s eggshell white, with bright green spears grown up and out of empty eyes. Shaking, I call out “Dad!” He turns to see, pulls me up, blinds my eyes with one big hand, and turns me around. As we leave behind this ancient graveyard, he says, “The rains might have made it rise.”

[RCL]

Ray’s Snowman

When seven, Ray built a snowman:
a bulbous round on which to rest
a slightly smaller stomach span

with a strong and manly chest,
a nicely curly rounded head
and face that was the very best!

His eyes were brown, like toasted bread,
nose black, and red his nose and lips,
but what he said stayed in his head.

One March day his words were drips
slowly melting into sound:
I am you with colder lips!

[Roger Slater]

SPRING IN MY STEP

They say there's a "spring in my step,"
... but I've always wondered how come a
spring in one's step is so common,
... but never a winter or summer?

And why is there never an autumn?
... It seems like a curious thing.
No matter the season or weather,
... my steps always think it is spring.

[Jim Moonan]

.
When Spring green springs wet and cold
leaving Winter limp and old
Summer simmers on the back burner
while Fall conspires for all the gold.

.

[RCL]

Good one, Jim! "Winter limp and old" rings my bell.

Yet another take:

Spring’s Artist

April rainbows are spring’s palettes
for painting over winter’s whiteness,
bliss for bees and humming birds
that sip the season’s wildest brews,
sweet nectars deep in blooming flowers.
His humans mime birds’ mating songs,
but spring’s Artist renews details,
admitting yearly errors, and alters
the energy of flora, fauna, people;
shifts light and shade, colors warm
to hot, those cool to cold, the strong
to weaker, then White—that unseen prism’s
power, the paradox of light,
from the Artist’s pentimenti palette.