New Poem

16 Apr

appleI went to a wonderful fire ceremony last month for the spring equinox and started a poem about it soon after. Been working on it in the early mornings here and there. I think it’s done.

It’s been a while since I had a poem insist on being written.

 

The Edge of Spring

A bowl of soft violet sky

curves over an ancient pasture

furred with winterdead grass.

At the eastern rim Mama Quechua rises

through a fringe of black branches.

An old love song rings in the cold air

thrumming from tiny frog throats.

At the center an amber fire glows,

illuminating a mandala of stone

and a patchwork of people.

They stand bundled up and smiling,

hot faces, cold backs, at the edge of spring.

We had 80 degree weather Sunday and then it snowed and was miserably cold and windy yesterday, so winter has not fully released us yet. But the trees are carrying on with their procession of spring colors. Right now it’s redbud, apple and dogwood. And many of them are wearing a thin veil of tiny bright green leaves.

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