MAP #73



Theme: Spring

1. Sanjay C Kuttan writes: "In Singapore we do not have springtime but here is a poem for consideration that has its elements; elements of life shared around the world but in different expressions with different significance and influences in a different place and time."

Predictably

Predictably

the rain falls,

rattling zinc awnings,

wetting the living soil,

quenching a thirsty world.

predictably

the sun rises,

purifying the unpurged air,

lifting dew into heaven,

enlightening an innocent world.

predictably

butterflies hover round flowers in bloom,

sucking nectar, pollinating,

creating a colorful world.

predictably

leaves quiver in the cool zephyr.

Branches reach out caressing each other,

nourishing a fertile world.

predictably

my eyes awaken from this dream world

to see the sun in the west,

upright trees

laid down to rest,

colored petals in the dust,

the flooding rain drowning portraits of desecrating lust.

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2. From Chuck Rice of Coral Springs, Florida:

Spring

Timeless,

I know you(me)now,

I can feel you inside me

touchless, your green

searching fingers.

Coalesce with me, absorb me

lose me in your

omnipotent spontaneity.

My ear sunward, below

the dusty scratching roots

I heard the thunder

of thousand voices- rain

as you ran through(me)the fields.

Silent, with dirt in my eyes

from beneath

the stretched bloody roots

I watched you

raise your hand

across burning meadows

heard stamens

whisper to thistledown, “nnnow...”

I felt mountains breathe,

yet your voice

half robin/half wind

half silence

could not find my ears

for the flowers

you held bleeding

freshly picked at your side,

I heard only their screams.

Chuck Rice

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3. Next poem is by Howard Frost of Wakefield, England - taken from his chapbook, Between Heaven and Undercliffe and Lister's Mill

March

Already willows on the river banks glow greenish-yellow,

Pale pre-leaf flush denoting rising sap

And here and there, the earliest daffodils

Rock in a brisk North wind.

In gardens, crocuses rear brash coloured heads aloft,

Whilst shy primulas lurk quietly

In damp and shady corners, showing

Sly flowers to a waiting world.

Out on the hillside, where dead grass shows brown,

The discerning few know that green growth

Already springs from each tussock base

To await the weaning of the lambs.

And day by day, whether we notice it or not,

The Sun rises earlier and sets later,

So that, although we may have fog or snow,

The Spring is almost here.

© 1998 Howard Frost

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4. Next, a poem by Ted Reilly of Geelong, Australia, where they be having autumn right about now. I took this poem from Ted's manuscript, The Camden Poems.

Then

Silver-tipped green, the trees have gathered cold

Spring's showers glassing over the duens

And we argue about the possibility of being pragmatic

About such matters as can be told,

The purple geraniums' stockiness, a daisy's

Golden eye, the likelihood of a hot summer:

We wait, for what, we are unsure.

Is there a forgetting of the possibilities,

A release from the worried particulars

As seasons hurry towards Advent?

In the corner plot, I've placed two punnets,

Grosse Lisse, displacing some rooted Basil,

Thinking of last Summer's good handfuls:

The particulars will take care of themselves.

© 1998 Edward Reilly