We all went to a Poetry Jam in Perry, New York last night, hosted by our friend Jordan; College student, poet, and the son of our friends Rich and Lara. It’s such a neat thing to see a kid you’ve known since he was about six grow into a creative, thoughtful, confident young man at the threshold of a life of boundless possibilities!
The venue was small, but for poetry reading, intimate is nice. Several people read their creations; some who had published poems and others who had not. And a couple of young guys and a woman played guitar and sang. It was very enjoyable.
At the last minute I thought about bringing some of my own poems to read (after all – it was an open reading kind of thing). I have one book with stuff going back about forty years; but of course, I couldn’t find it! Other poetry is scattered around in various notebooks and on the computer. But since the family was now in the car waiting for me to go, I left empty-handed.
On the drive to Perry, however, I wrote down some words. But when we got there, I didn’t think it was poem-worthy enough yet to read out loud. I kind of wish I had, now.
Poetry is a funny thing. It’s very interesting to hear other people read their work. For my own writing, the only important thing is that I like it. Some of my poems I definitely like more than others. It’s nice when a poem can express something beyond the words. So here is what I wrote last night:
Squinting sun shines down ancient avenues of glowing grass; down a corridor of newly clothed trees, shedding Spring light on memories of camp-outs, Lord of the Rings and youthful adventures.
Sweet April is fading into sunset across new-plowed fields; a glinting tractor; cows ambling home over rich dark earth.
Apple blossoms never grow old, their creamy white fists bursting into leaf.
I consume the evening air like a succulent dessert; even the far-off scent of manure brings delicious reminiscence.
Cool pine shadows point their fingers toward the night; sky leaps over shining mirrors of open water.
A goose regards me with mellow recognition and says “What a wonderful moment in which to be alive!”
Onward, moving onward; rolling hills meld into evening, clothed in forests growing verdant with possibility.
I welcome the Spring night; the chilly stars or maybe a gentle rain; and the blooming flowers that morning will bring.
Changing; everything always changing; moving onward through our lives, across the seasons of experience. Onward until it finally flows me away.
I hear the voices of my children shrieking with delight in the distance; in the bright playground of Springtime.
What a wonderful moment in which to be alive!
Green moss on a dark, damp trunk,
gray sky, a pale glow bleeding down from beyond…
The first day of Spring.
Soft blush of light, wet hints of color, whispers of warmth to come.
And the earth is brushed with broad strokes of green
grass awakening to that luminescent hint of sun from above.
Sky is alive with sounds, birds flitter
scavenging winter’s husks to construct new nests.
Glorious shoots of crocus and daffodil thrust up through dun-colored leaf
and coffee-dark soil.
They seem to rise higher by the hour
lusting for the light and moist warm air.
Gazing out my back window, music lulls me into a dream
of past vision melding into the archetype of ‘Spring’.
“Come down in time”, the gentle voice croons.
This moment of awareness rooted in Now,
yet each memory reflects the echoes of the echoes
of echoes of memories of every springtime I have known;
echoes of selves that bridge the illusion of years,
like diamonds strung on a spider’s web.
Around and around, it all comes back again
to the cycles of life and death and life…
Now it is Spring.