Paper Wings

Paper airplanes

Are childhood dreams

Handmade,

Spun and bent and folded

All at home.

Crisp and new-white blankness

Creased into points and edges

For flying.

 

The yard is a launch base

The pond is an ocean.

The road is a canyon

For crashing.

But no one minds that.

 

No one minds the crooked wings

The lopsided dips and rolls

Nose-diving midair.

All anyone sees

Are determined paper birds,

Sunlight spinning off their wings.

 

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Showers

Showers

Awake in the sky’s spring washing

The streets ripple laughter, and

Raindrops collect in puddle chuckles,

Birds joining chorus.

The wet world basks

Waiting wonder fresh

As weary winter limbs stretch

Facing up

Towards the splash.

Writing in Ripples~Poems

Mountains

Pink haze wreaths a scarf around

Rock shoulders,

Steadying dizzy scapes

Against arctic wind.

 

The land’s jagged, full of sharpened edges,

Drops

Deepened where His Fingers shaped

And carved the canyons,

Nestled Knuckles

Between trees breathing cold.

 

Scattered points of pine

Flock the valleys–

A conifer carpet

Amid open spots of white.

 

From above, flattened ridges

Watch the sky, waiting

For the blushing warm

To cast a smile on their face.

— Jubilee A. Lipsey, 2016