Spring

Spring

primroses
splashes of paint
from the prised open
rusted tins of light
swung by the head-rushed Sun

daffodils
crowds of cyclopes
raising the chrome yellow
of their periscopes
surveying to see
the extent of the world’s
expectancy

bluebells
raising their lighters
from the rubble
of the forest floor
hold their blue flames
above their own graves
bow the smouldering stubs
of their heads
to ignite the soil

songbirds
frothing with song
tides tugging a little harder

seagull cries
fresh scalpel blades
placed against the seams
of the buds

breezes
brushing branches together
remembering
how to start fires
blossom
the slow sparks
taking days to fade
the tatters of winter’s
blood stained
white flag

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