Sunday, May 19, 2013

Spring Stinging

This time of year, the beauty is so much
it hurts. Hurts like white bright shining in
the eyes when stepping from the dark, like touch
returning to a sleeping limb, or din
of welcomes after riding far alone.
It hurts like watching water drip from long
icicles, knowing they can't last; full blown
blue bells' last showing; Frost's sweet golden song                  *
still going all to green. Almost within--
against one lifted palm, feel longing's throb, 
an echo of a higher pulse. This thin
membrane twixt Glory and the earth--a sob.

The green gold covers each awakening hill--
like Paradise--so close, and so far still.






* See Robert Frost's poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay"

4 comments:

  1. One hesitates to append comment to a poem so secure and so lovely, but I must say: brava!

    I can't decide which image or which line I like best -- well, yes I can! I like those long icicles, and I like the fact that the speaker of the poem will lament their vanishing!

    The poem reminds me slightly of Hopkins' poem "Spring," featuring the line "What is all this juice and all this joy?" -- But whereas GMH's poem is a celebratory exuberance, yours is a more subdued and poignant reflection, equally appropriate to the season -- a reflection on the transience of the vernal beauty which, though fleeting, nonetheless points to that lasting glory of which the poem's ending speaks.

    I repeat my "brava!" and say, sincerely, Thank you for sharing such a beautiful poem.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Thomas! I am very glad you enjoyed this, and I value your praise highly!

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  2. Replies
    1. Thank you, Dr. Impson! I always treasure your visits :) Also, I hope to see more updates to your blog now that school is out!

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