Like the tea... seasons brew.


tea steeps
in this budding cup
a taste

This, I recently left as a comment on an old friend's blog. Barks?


dogwood
barks into its branches
leaves flutter

March 21st, 11pm... 64 degrees, watching this warm night


cloudy mist
fills the big dipper
tree frogs

A surprise contact between a Magyar family member and I; inspiring.


distant bridge
this far family line
a drum beat

Departure #13

Another old scribble.   _m

Style…

Style is yours, a personal sign, and
     Fashion... another’s glee.
Thus avoid the newer trends, where
    Some think you ought to be.

By melting into a reasoned blend
     Quiet... and unheeded,
Each fashion’s, tidal flood and wane,
     For you, will pass un-needed.

So set your style to fit your fashion
     Your... fashion to fit your style,
And the art of being over looked,
     Puts fashion in your smile.

The "peepers" as we call them, soon to be heard; this,  from one of my old 'scribble books.'


warm night
a page of what will be
tree frogs

A few nights ago... that dance of the northern lights.


a far dog
howls at the northern sky
night pulse

Some ways of telling time;  soon... .


pond shore
these robins and willows
a bell rings

Spring is knocking at the door... .


at the gate
spring reaches for its latch
new crocus

My meager attempt, Hungarian to English; this, from last Spring; now this corrected translation is by Iris... with my thanks! _m

napos rugyek
a reggeli to keresztul
a hattyuk


sun buds
across this morning pond
the swans

Departure # 12

__I wrote this when I was seventeen, October, 1960. I think now, we are all looking for the first two lines of the third stanza; the change cycles continue... unchanged. _m

*Rose Red Trees*

Rose red trees
Flecked with gold,
The colors of clans
From legends old.

Warmed by the sun
Through a bitter fall day,
Withered by cold
And wafted away.

Then green we see
In season's sun,
To rose red again
Life's cycle run.