In bloom: a brief collection of springery
SPRING COLLECTION, 2021
Hi there, toads. Lately, we’ve been hyper focused on our printed toad issues-we’ve had two so far and are building our summer issue now- and they are our pride and joy, no doubt!
But every now and again, we like to feature a collection of work that’s just for the website and our online viewers. This is one of those collections… some poetry and artwork that, timing-wise, fell between issues and celebrates the season of Spring. Let’s enjoy it together before summer takes over in a few short weeks from now.
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”Rosebuds”: watercolor and ink by Brooks Billings
Aquired taste: poem by April Brown
He tastes like the summer-spring I spent in Europe
Not like coffee or cigarettes-
He hates them both.
He tastes like fresh pastries,
Like picking cherry trees from balconies.
He tastes like culture-shocked travel highs,
Like an adventure so good it terrifies.
He tastes like warm walks after midnight,
Like blue skies without a cloud in sight.
Like the summer-spring I spent in Europe,
He tastes like the time of my life.
Small Perspective: Veronica Carr (soft pastel)
untitled poem: Deb Livesay
Mist rising from the meadow curls
around the spiky fronds of ferns.
Spent leaves play on the breeze that swirls
along the bends of becks and burns.
Fairies lounge on emerald moss
and hide beneath Saint Andrew’s Cross.
Where water sprites indulge their play,
all weary thoughts are washed away.
The leaves are a faint green mist on distant trees,
a hint and a promise.
The river under its ice creaks and moans
and stretches toward freedom.
The crocuses poke their white-striped fingers through the snow,
reaching for sun that grows bolder each day.
Eyes, winter-blind and sunken, flicker to life
and thin, wavering souls wax fat.
Somewhere a brook sings over rocks
and swirls between the paddling feet of water birds;
here is only the slosh of tepid water in plastic bottles.
Somewhere is the smell of sun on fir,
and freshly turned earth;
here are only Expo markers and dusty, unloved books.
Somewhere are running feet
and laughter;
here are only scratching pencils and bored sighs.
Somewhere is dappled sunlight
and glowing white clouds;
here is only flickering fluorescent.
Sap is rising as surely in me as in the distant trees.
My body is sitting meekly in the classroom
but my soul is running riot with the spring.
Poem: unknown origin
Illustration set: Lesli Neuenschwander
click the arrows to see the full set:
Clovers: a haiku by Cody Martin
The clover grows green
A carpet beneath your feet
Cool between your toes