Saturday, March 29, 2014

March 20

Snow floats like swan down
on this first morning's spring
following the indomitable winter
whose grip sunk, day after day,
deeper through earth until
the buried pipes burst.

Riding the gentlest wind
(blessedly mild and tuned
to robin song and cardinals'
new sprung voice), when faced,
the flakes appear as soft gray clumps
spilling from soft gray clouds.
They make me squint
with their multitude of wet caresses.

Inside, shedding my coat, I glimpse
a quick vision of silver drops in golden hair
and smiling, wind-red cheeks.
At times, we're privileged to touch
wonder woven through the world--
to hear little rivers running
through our very selves.

4 comments:

  1. Lovely, Elena! I especially love the imagery of the first stanza.

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  2. Thank you! I like the first stanza best, too--really the first line. The rest I may rework eventually.

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  3. ElenaLee, Another lovely poem. I love the color change througout the poem, to the red cheeks. I showed you one of my daughter's poems when she was ten. Here is a relevant stanza from another poem:
    The hard brown ground
    Has changed to white
    A soft wet mixture
    Overnight
    I love that the brown sound changes with the word changed. And I don't know where she found that word, "mixture" but it's what you express with your "multitude of wet carresses" I think you have the same sens of sound and image in this poem.
    Newell

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  4. Oh, yes, that's a neat aspect of your daughter's poem! Does she still write poetry, or has she moved on to other creative endeavors?

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