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Last week was a strange and exhausting week of ups and downs, joy and and hurt; shadows and light. I noticed that each time the shadow seemed dominant, the sight of the daffodils spurting up all around the city of Edinburgh and its beautiful gardens sparked new brightness and optimism. So, I have looked out several of my daffodil poems and will post them now... Hope you enjoy and wherever you are, and whatever the season, you can smell the long awaited Scottish spring!

Armful of Daffodils, 3

Gillian_ferguson_photo_high_resby Gillian K Ferguson12 Apr 2014

I hug an unruly bunch of excitable young daffodils.

Squeaking and giggling in nervous wind -
still peeping from costume-drama bonnets,
shedding modest sepia onion-skin shawls

a princely Sun is coaxing open.
To announce himself reborn, fit.
Fashioning for the purpose – what wit!
a trillion golden trumpets,
blown from winter’s dying lips.

Slowly buttering first pale light:
the cold illumination of stars -
modelling the floral metaphor
in effulgent gold molecules,
translucent yellow flesh.
Sealing coiled revelation of the season
inside imploded bulb ciphers.

Chosen by me after millions of years -
to spark a whole home, spring a dusty family.
Leaking gooey flower blood - glooping
my naked arm crooks.
Kissing my neck like hysterical fans.

Dazzled, my moley winter eyes pinprick,
grow golden irises like a wolf.
I am crazed by osmotic green injection -
my blind saffron-powdered mouth suddenly trumpeting!
The human-silent sound I know they uproariously choir:
bugle. I translate. My barmy canary face likewise singing,
aureate. The sun is in me too!

I am pagan Prometheus, running bonkers
with my blazing cache
from the woods’ promiscuous crucible, Narcissus coup.
Possessed by manic daffodil spirits.
Hooded adolescents rioting - slim, tight-bodied,
even into tarmac-defended towns, sly suburbs.

For my own home coffers -
littered only with nibbled winter bones,
gnawed white sticks, picked leaf skeletons;
little mute bird skulls
like musical instruments: dead flutes.

I have stolen the jaunty fire of spring.