The tadpole begins to frog
She surrenders
expanding bones

"Am I the water
Or is it the other way around?"

Suddenly ****** into the one with everything

"Am I dead
Or is it the other way around?"

Try to become itself
or allow it to be revealed

The trees suddenly make sense to her
they've been watching her
calling her home
she longs to be held by them again
If only she could reach

Hop Hop
above the leaves
ahhhh
at ease

The other side of wave
while always in the middle of one

And. Then. She’s born again.

jumping jacks
slimy smiles
fantastic froggy

Yellow coats and squeaky shoes
Butterfly nets and umbrellas blue
These are best for hunting frogs

Quiet giggles and smiling friends
Tall water reeds and river bends
These are best for finding frogs

Slippery mud and misty rain
Grassy tumbles and many stains
These are best for catching frogs

Slimey fingers and careful grips
Awed, sweet glances and grinning lips
These are best for holding frogs

Happy tears and soft goodbyes
Brand new name and darkened sky
These are best for freeing frogs

I dream that the frogs in my backyard have wings
and they fly up to the trees
in the dewy light of dawn
to meet their maker
and kiss under the canopied shade of listless leaves
grazing their backs
and reminding them of simpler times
down from the watery swamp they came from
their webbed feet leave prints on the bark
muddy and cumbersome
but innocent in their doings
a flash flood of lightning  awakens me
i'm laying in damp earth again
time to go back inside

Long ago, in a youth now gone,
I spent hours at a pond,
A clay base , sun adorning,
Tadpoles swimming, half forming,
I spied with magnifying glass,
Frogs finally hopped at last,
Now, no frogs, cause no rain,
Is is all because of climate change?
So I ponder on such ponds,
Where have all the tadpoles gone?
That was our ecological health,
How can we restore our planet's wealth?

Like the frog of batrachian notes in the inkwell of swamp,
And the bee waggling hieroglyphs to the papyrus of hive,
Like the flight of birds in the palm of radiating skyline,
And the sad might of the world to the caged dog’s eye.

I can't find the words to translate this.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLVI)


Frogs chorus from the hollows, moist earth' scents
'Non wafting on winds' softest kiss, th'exhale
So lightly fragile 'cross my cheek t'avail
As I hark, lips half oped to hear from hence
In sweet surprise their voices, wondring thence
If crickets also fiddle?  Robins'd hail
At gloaming, to yield notes of Mavis' scale
Of ancient lullabies I'd list to, whence?
Forsooth.  As if my soul's restored in tour,
Likeas a sleeper whose long nightmares to
Effect are broken, nor but dreams and poor,
I feel now I can breathe, yea see anew?
Perhaps...who knows what shall be?  Love'd bestir
As in the wings is't? now that Summer'd woo.

05Apr19b

April is the pouring rain
Frog beats and birthday wishes
Warm nights and short clouds
Wrapped in foggy breaths.