Seasonal weather agendas rarely allow for best laid plans, but no other time of year exceeds the excitement anticipation expectation of spring. The stubborn bleak of winter does its up and down dance with calendar changes and temperature fluctuations. We wait and wait and wait and wait for our annual date with vernal equinox. It usually begins its ending with summer solstice way too soon. An enthusiastic garden pink variety spring mood is welcomed by all. The progress promise of new things up and coming is exhilarating.

We so look forward to spring. We long for its sunny days and fragrant breezes. Thoughts turn to the awakening of new and naturally occurring possibilities. We pine for release of winter’s gray chill on our cold conscious points of view. Long-short, we greatly desire springization.  Because when springtime does arrive we feel inspired by the newness of life. There’s an overwhelming sense of increased personal space and freedom. Effulgence conquers lethargy. It’s like opening the door to what pattswordart describes as the Picturesque Romanesque of Arabesque. But, alas, my oxygen holograph word play search reveals that we can’t, nor would we want to hold spring in pose and/or alternative active models. Happy, cheerful movements just begin to happen, springing forth by their own momentum. Spring is as spring ritefully does.


Spring seems born ready when it finally comes

fresh off the vine and the bud

flowering gloriously through patterns of light

inviting anything’s possible love.

Spring’s eloquent oration of alls fair hard-to-get

is sprung by gangsta foreverness flirts

and like morning glories of forget-me-not’s tell

call out summer for all that it’s worth.

Stimulant seeds sown in lush springy grounds

announce nicknames as soon as they bloom

swathing silky berry secrets of night

around trumpeted swoons to the moon.

Rites of spring bring to mind lovemaking music

when nobody sprang any notes of a song,

as a renowned first lady of hide and seek,

the elastic, breath holding, stomach churning

soul of love in the spring

cannot be, no matter ever what be, tethered or bound.

Seize the effervescence!


Say what-what say – PATT AWES : Lovable Amaranth {imaginary unfading flower}

                                Version: Spring beauty is more than a flower.

                                               It is the first stage of love.

                                Add on: Spring fever is more than feelings of lazy listlessness.

                                              It is the surreal interlude created, love is in the air.

Springing melodiously with vigor,


©2013 | A Poem titled “Blush Crush”

Posted in Select "Say" Book

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