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March Poetry

Updated: May 1


Last night I had a troubling dream.

High in a beech sat a camouflaged nest

of spider silk, moss and green lichen.

Two little hummingbirds darted,

wings beating frantically lest they fell

in search of nectar but finding none.

I awoke unsettled, determined to plant

beebalm, petunias, and trumpet vines,

baskets of lantana and fuchsia, then hang

a shiny red feeder with sweetened water.

I fell back asleep then dreamed once more of

gloves and rakes, spades, and hoes midst

leaves and twigs and pinecones.

I cried out “wait, I am not ready yet.”

And awoke knowing what was awry.

It’s that time of year and my diagnosis

a wicked case of Spring Fever.

Mary Blohm, Newbury NH


An arc of daylight creates a happy smile

grinning from 6AM to 6PM. The sunlight

melts any remaining snow freeing water

to seep into the ground, quenching earth’s

thirst, softening the soil, awakening roots

and bulbs from a long winter’s slumber.

The lost hour of sleep in March is stashed

away with winter doldrums into the closet

along with down jackets and snow boots.

Flip-flops are dusted off as bouquets

of seed catalogues propagate the mail

with colorful blossoms and basketball fans’

enthusiasm rises like the temperatures

as March Madness has them filling

in brackets trying to predict game outcomes

as to what teams will rise to the Final Four.

Debutante daffodils’ graciously come out

their fluted yellow cups drinking in sunlight

like champagne, welcoming the light with

a cotillion of golden beauties dancing with the wind.

Dianalee Velie, Newbury NH


We measure you in lumens, watts, volts,

and insert you into filaments.

We think we contain you, but we don’t.

We see seven colors and their shadings,

and arrange you neatly in a wheel.

We think we describe you, but we don’t.

You cannot be created or destroyed,

You act as a wave and a particle.

We think we understand you, but we don’t.

You would laugh, if you could.

You weren’t born, you exploded.

A single point, hot and dense, thrust you out into a great nothing.

You surround us, always with us, even when hidden.

Our minds cannot grasp you.


Paula Minaert, New London NH


When the light returns

Winter's icy grip slackens

The eternal contest lost

Stonewalls sheltered

Under frozen mantles

Like rounded helmets now exposed

Stand sentry, lining the Muster fields

Their wintery-white blankets

Warming, yielding, greening under


In the morning light, geraniums

Poised on the kitchen sill

Reach to kiss the window glass

Old house cat in tuxedo

Stretches slowly, blissfully

In the worn wing chair

Warming, her jet-black fur

Shining, sun-kissed, ever sleepy


Vernal pools thawing, greening

With the Spring Equinox

Waiting, welcoming spring peepers,

Mating, salamanders sliding

Like the bees in the hive stirring

Frenzied workers fanning

The queen, her brood morphing

Alive, preparing to take flight

To swarm with the warm light

Like the black bear with cub beside

Lumbering out from the dense dark woods

To the lake's frozen edge, now receding

Winter's thirst slaked

Drinking deep, warming deep

On the sunlit sand

At the edge of the lake

Cathy Chesley North Sutton NH


The whisper roars inside the dark,

promising the bud, the lark.

The ray will shine its gift of light,

awakening from winter’s night.

Still the cold, stark rests upon

vacant meadow, frozen pond,

yet, hearts yearn for opening,

a softening, what thaw will bring.

Underneath the surges grow,

offering spring seeds to sow,

as sky frees raindrops from flakes,

greenery, as earth partakes.

Patsy Barrett-King, Newport NH


I lay on the creeper,

staring into the abyss,

trying to see the bolt,

that I somehow missed.

I open the hood,

welcome in the light.

I can see it,

but it’s just too tight.

If I had a joint,

between elbow and wrist,

it would be easy,

I’d just reach up and twist.

But, the gods need pain;

a lot of cussing;

a stripped bolt head;

blood a’gushing.

So I grab the wrench,

gnash my teeth,

prepare for pain,

and roll underneath.

Douglas King, Newport NH


Disappear into time

Betray our longing

For making a mark

This morning

I drove into a wash of spring light

Settled into the day

Alive in that moment

Grace kissed my cheek


Kathleen Skinner Shulman, New London NH




Before the first rays of light can warm our bodies

Discomforting cold winds strike our faces,

Raising doubts we will witness this sunrise.

At first a red line stretched across the horizon,

Undercutting layers of clouds

Casting a faint light on a lobster boat (It's captain hoping for a payable catch.)

Silhouetting the Isles of Shoals,

And faintly outlining sea gulls drifting in the wind.

Restless with night being in charge

Mother nature's curtain rises on this endless play.

This intense fiery globe catches us off guard,

Winking at us with it's grand entrance

Some mistake it for a signal from an imaginary lighthouse.

Crisp fall colors blended and surrounded this emerging fireball

Intent on fulfilling it's destiny.

This celestial body enters it's realm

Infused with the energy of creation.

Horizon's clouds now disburses the suns rays to all intended parties,

Blanketing the rumbling sea,

Waking the land,

And stirring sleepy eyed people.

Finally, this giver of life, towers over horizons clouds,

Brilliant with dazzling celestial colors-reds, orange, golds and violent yellows

Igniting a fresh day which has happened a trillion times before,

But so new to us.

tom keegan, Bristol NH


I can see sun shining through 

the woodpile. It is nearing the end

of February and cold. From the other

side I see the shadow of our morning 

wood fire in the snow and I wonder what

the chickens are thinking as they look

up at me.

Light is thin. Sky goes on and on.

Shadows move as if alive, as if they

are a parallel universe with no color,

no blue jays puffed up against the cold,

no glow reflecting back from tree trunks

or into their delicate fingers reaching 

for eternity.

From the window I watch as light

melts winter, dripping from the roof,

leaving brown patches across the ground.

Chickens tiptoe to find emerging bugs 

and shift from one foot to another, 

fluffed up feathers warming their 

dinosaur feet.

Jennie Pollard, Windsor VT



mornings we open

our eyelids

and remain behind

them in the dark.

Thank you

for reminding us

how to balance.


hours of dormancy

in snow and ice.

Thank you

for reminding us

how to be grateful

come planting

and harvest.



that hides wildlife

and keeps us home.

Thank you

for helping us

appreciate our lives.

Amber rose Crowtree, Grafton NH


Desultory landscape drapes the lonely night

in somber midnight sorrow,

Framing winter’s sedentary void

in velvet crape drawn shadow.

Lo, there is a whisper of dawn

neath heaven’s, diamond speckled skyway,

A solitary beam of God-sent light that separates the Earth from night

and welcomes then the day.

We wait for it to be, as if in infinite dream

neither light nor dark nor any in-between,

Then – suddenly it appears

the promised light of creation – God’s breath amidst our fears.

The world welcomes dawn in silent reflection

as promised by the prophets,

Once spoken loud and clear in darkness

now shines, across the universe.

David Balford, New London NH


The sharp cold

No longer in bones

On the flesh.

It bites. It excites.


Feathered friends


Seeking companions.

Listen and watch.

But it is the light that calls

Promising warmth, longer days

Bringing hope, a new season.

Warmth, face to the sun

Blinking, smiling

Welcoming the light.


I am whole

Yet in the dark

Struggling against the shell.

Legs burrowing downward

To settle in the earth.

My strength abounds with urgency

Moving upwards to the surface.

There I emerge

Welcoming the light.

State of the Nation

The devil walks among us

His minions close behind

The goal to create chaos

The truth is hard to find.

The devil walks among us

Lies, hate and doubt

Despair, fear and dismay

Follow him about.

Our allies fear our chaos

Trust worthy we remain?

The world is silently watching

Mostly with disdain.

Good men are among us

Their heads are hung with shame

Is this the America we promised

Our children would remain?

Good men are among us

Their silence hurts us all

Speak out against the devil

The duty of us all.

The hopeful walk among us

Dreaming of a future bright

They hold our future closely

With hopes of welcoming the light.

Jane White, New London


Snow last night—

We measure half a foot, and sigh.

Birds, though,

trace spirals through translucent clouds

and joyous, measure trees for nests.


I reluctantly salute

this quaggy quaff of grit and gray

in its cloudy glass,

as your once-beaming eye pours rain again.

Old Sol, Here’s mud in your lie.

Joan T. Doran, New London NH


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