spring


Poetry is not personal.

And so, the spring!
Green grass, fog, blossoms,
the daffodils headless
after the gardener passed through.

Birdsong, God yes, birdsong,
morning, noon, twilight,
even a damned nightingale
passing through on its way
from point A to points farther north.

The crack of the bat,
the smell of the crowd,
young bodies turning to fancy,
fancy bodies turning to fever.

Bleating lambs with gay
red X’s spray painted on their coats,
and orange tags stapled to their ears,
frolicking and jumping while
they still have a chance
to be something more than chops.

And so, the spring!
(Nothing personal.)

 

*For the poetry project, phase one go here.

*For a definition of Phase 2, go here.

*To see all the poems in one place go here.

The daffodils have
finally woken, dancing
along the garden
wall, dreaming faces turned to
the sun after long, dark sleep.

 

 

*For a definition of what constitutes haiku, tanka, and cinquains, and for an explanation of this poetry project, go here.

*To see all the poems in one place go here.

Oh

Spring, oh spring, you break my heart
with the gaudy riot you splash against my eyes,
with the sweet winds and misting torrents,
you crack my heart wide open, thrusting life
where I have carefully kept it out.

Oh spring, oh spring, how can I deny you
when all around the yellow and red burn,
burn and burst and foment and fly?
Oh spring.
Oh.