Decade

 

What joy touches
the solace of ritual? A void

appears in the life.
A shock so deep, so terrible,
its force
levels the perceived world. You were

a beast at the edge of its cave, only
waking and sleeping. Then
the minute shift; the eye

taken by something.
Spring: the unforeseen
flooding the abyss.

And the life
filling again. And finally
a place
found for everything.

 

Louise Glück from The Seven Ages

 

Photo: Arthur Tress

Breeding, mixing, stirring…

 

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

___

 

                                                                                     ‘Do

‘You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you re-

          member

‘Nothing?’
 

      I remember

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

 

T. S. ELIOT, from The Waste Land

 

Photo: source unknown

We’re not in Seneca anymore.

first robin the;

 

(winter goodbye)
april hello,

E.E. Cummings, from 65, 95 Poems

National Poetry Month

Holy fuck.

Boysmell.

 

Sans fabreze.

What is all this juice and all this joy?

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring—

GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS

Nature has a very simple way of amazing us—

Ah!

how beautiful they are,

as though their bodies did not impede them.

Uplift.

 

Attention is the beginning of devotion.

 
MARY OLIVER, Upstream

Tree.

[click pic to enlarge]

thx Manny.

O!

Photos: MICHAEL BAKER (my fellow gardener).