Category Archives: poetry

Blowing her dandelion breath.

nature, poetry, ,

This afternoon I had to throw off my sweater before I took a walk. I keep being surprised that it’s not chillier, and have to remind myself that it’s March, after all. January and February flew past, maybe because I went on trips out of state both months, and didn’t pay attention to the home front.

I’m hoping that my schedule will be quieter during April. Orthodox Lent and Pascha are very late this year — Lent doesn’t begin until Monday the 18th of March — and I expect to stay home all of April, and let my friends come to visit me. So far two of them are planning to do that. I’m opening my arms to Spring!

SPRING

Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
of light rain,
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms.

-Linda Pastan

Yours is the name the leaves chatter.

nature, poetry, ,

DEAR ONE ABSENT THIS LONG WHILE

It has been so wet stones glaze in moss;
everything blooms coldly.

I expect you. I thought one night it was you
at the base of the drive, you at the foot of the stairs,

you in a shiver of light, but each time
leaves in wind revealed themselves,

the retreating shadow of a fox, daybreak.
We expect you, cat and I, bluebirds and I, the stove.

In May we dreamed of wreaths burning on bonfires
over which young men and women leapt.

June efforts quietly.
I’ve planted vegetables along each garden wall

so even if spring continues to disappoint
we can say at least the lettuce loved the rain.

I have new gloves and a new hoe.
I practice eulogies. He was a hawk

with white feathered legs. She had the quiet ribs
of a salamander crossing the old pony post road.

Yours is the name the leaves chatter
at the edge of the unrabbited woods.

-Lisa Olstein

 

It almost speaks to you.

my garden, nature, poetry, , ,

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period –
When March is scarcely here.

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope, you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay –

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.

-Emily Dickinson

Collards, March 2021

 

The shape of what you lived.

poetry, , ,

REMEMBERING

And you wait. You wait for the one thing
that will change your life,
make it more than it is—
something wonderful, exceptional,
stones awakening, depths opening to you.

In the dusky bookstalls
old books glimmer gold and brown.
You think of lands you journeyed through,
of paintings and a dress once worn
by a woman you never found again.

And suddenly you know: that was enough.
You rise and there appears before you
in all its longings and hesitations
the shape of what you lived.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Rilke, by Leonid Pasternak 1928