disTraction #144 - Ah, Spring

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The season of spring gets its name from the verb "spring." It's a nod to the flowers and plants springing up, springing open, and bursting into blossom. Many poems have been written about spring. Perhaps, because, as the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote, “Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.”

Spring is about new life and flowers. It is about growth and love and joy. It is about renewal. It can be youthful and melancholic. As we approach this springtime with a new optimism and hope, here is an appreciation.

 

AFTER THE WINTER
By Claude McKay

Some day, when trees have shed their leaves
And against the morning’s white
The shivering birds beneath the eaves
Have sheltered for the night,
We’ll turn our faces southward, love,
Toward the summer isle
Where bamboos spire the shafted grove
And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill
Where towers the cotton tree,
And leaps the laughing crystal rill,
And works the droning bee.
And we will build a cottage there
Beside an open glade,
With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,
And ferns that never fade

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DAISY TIME
By Marjorie Pickthall

See, the grass is full of stars,
Fallen in their brightness;
Hearts they have of shining gold,
Rays of shining whiteness. 

Buttercups have honeyed hearts,
Bees they love the clover,
But I love the daisies' dance
All the meadow over.

Blow, O blow, you happy winds,
Singing summer's praises,
Up the field and down the field
A-dancing with the daisies. 

 

TODAY
By Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

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THE ENKINDLED SPRING
By D. H. Lawrence

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes. 

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze. 

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.

 

[in JUST-]
By E. E. Cummings

in Just-
spring          when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman 

whistles          far          and wee 

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring 

when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far          and             wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and

the

goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles
far
and
wee

 

THE FIRST GREEN OF SPRING
By David Budbill

Out walking in the swamp picking cowslip, marsh marigold,
this first sweet green of spring. Now sauteed in a pan melting
to a deeper green than ever they were alive, this green, this life,

harbinger of things to come. Now we sit at the table munching
on this message from dawn which says we and the world
are alive again today, and this is the world’s birthday. And

even though we know we are growing old, we are dying, we
will never be young again, we also know we’re still right here
now, today, and, my oh my! don’t these greens taste good.

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APRIL RAIN SONG
By Langston Hughes

Let the rain kiss you 
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops 
Let the rain sing you a lullaby 
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk 
The rain makes running pools in the gutter 
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night 
And I love the rain.

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disTraction #145 - Why We All Should Be Open To Possibilities

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disTraction #143 - What We Can All Learn From Mr. Rogers