Writer's Forum: Exercise No. 2 "Spring has Sprung"(14 Posts)
Write whatever you want (short, long, poem, story, jingle etc.) on the theme "Spring has Sprung"
Spring has Sprung. How do I know this exactly? Have I looked at the calendar? Have I noticed the tuilips and daffodils waving their colourful heads in a gentle afternoon breeze? Maybe it was when my DH told me that I should make an appointment to have my winter tyres changed over. Maybe it is all of those things plus a large billboard advertisement that I have seen in at least half a dozen places so far around town, that is declaring: It is String Time! Said billboard depicts 4 young fit women, full length, back to camera wearing only a G-String and high heels - no I lie - one, the only one whose face you can see is also wearing a dazzling too-white smile. To be honest I am a fan of the G-String (as it is called where I come from) and I do admire the way that all 4 bums are identical in size, shape and colour (that must have been a very tough casting assignment).
But. Why is the caption in English? This is Germany FFS!
Your turn. Or du bist drun as we say over here.
I know it´s Spring because all of the teenagers and old men have come out of hibernation. While they sit and stand and mutter and laugh in the park the women carry on as they always do, struggling with prams and shopping or purposefully going about their business with a stylishness that I can only dream of.
And then there´s the colours. There are the colours of the first flowers on terraces and in window boxes. The colours of the people - the reds and turquioses and blues of the stylish women and the browns, blacks and greys of the knarled old men who argue animatedly in the park. And the colours of the air.
[will this do? ]
The spring has sprung
the grass is rizz
does anyone know where my pencil is?
Spring is Sprung
The leaf-buds swell
to crowd their space
till colours burst
in every place
the dirge-brown soil
is cloaked again
in nature's most
fresh food is rising
from the earth
as seeds once dry
are coaxed to birth
the pure spring rain
a magic brush
with every touch
the nesting birds
find mud and sticks
to build a home
for raising chicks
Each dawn they chirp
a joyful song
wake up, come out
for winter's long.
This is great! Are we having fun yet? Keep em rolling in!
My boy's feet
But perfect, wrinkled, new
I kiss them
Feeling grass with his feet for the first time
This is what Spring means this year
The horses spent all winter with their heads drooping over the gate, as if all they had to look forward to was an appointment with the Grim Reaper. I fed them special veteran horse supplements, homeopathic arnica tablets and cod liver oil by the gallon. I bought quilty rugs for them to wear at night in their stables, and sturdy waterproof rugs for them to wear during the day. I wasn't sure they wouldn't keep that appointment.
This week I led them out to the back field on the hill where the grass is lush and sweet. My ancient horses thundered round the field like equine extras from Ben Hur, squealing with joy, young again.
Anyone know of a mattress strong enough to withstand my dh at this time of year? firm but yielding? I wouldn't complain normally as I love his twice-yearly clock-change celebrations - but the spring that's sprung this time is on my side of the bed and digs in me back.
For all winter long birds are leaves in the tree
For all winter long twig wait for the beak
Warm the wind now hums its dancing tune
For all spring is coming, a busy note to the air
As bud comes alive with songs of scented joy
The twigs are woven to celebrate springs muse
Spring means lambing season.Last spring,for the first time in 34 years,I didn't go down to the lambing sheds.Why? Because I was pregnant & forbidden to go anywhere near them.
Strange how much I missed it.Even the 11pm walk down the village to check on the 'maternity unit'every night,looking in the water butt on the way out of the garden gate,to see if there was any ice on it,or if we'd be lucky & have a mild night.
My dad & I always took the late shift & would walk through the sheds together-not neccesarily speaking to each other,but glad of the company & comfortable in our silence.We would be listening out for the telltale huff & grunt of a sheep in labour,or the wavering bleat of a newborn lamb,jealously guarded by its mother,against the other curious ewes.
This year,I haven't made it down for the late shift yet.Why?Because I've got responsibilities of my own.I took my little baby girl down to the lambing sheds for the first time this year.It would be nice to think that at some time in the future,sher could be following in her mothers footsteps.
Daffodils. Primroses. Bluebells. Thats what people usually think of when someone mentions spring. I think tourists! Its the curse of living somewhere that people like to visit on holiday. As soon as the schools break up for Easter, the traffic in my village triples and the narrow pavements are cluttered with groups of strangers not looking where theyre going. We get walkers in waterproofs and walking boots in the hottest weather, carrying huge rucksacks and maps in plastic covers; elderly couples who wander from tea shop to gift shop and back again, and families with sunburn and bored kids arguing. And it stays like this until September.
I love the winter: only the hardiest walkers are here then and the moor is dark, mysterious and unforgiving. The sea is slate-grey and stormy, there are no paddling happy-families, dripping ice creams and litter. Its harder, unfriendly and more dangerous, but its starkly beautiful. And its mine.
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