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Pensée

In honor of National Poetry Month:




Pure blue faces
And a
Nibbled yellow petal float above
Splinters and rust
Yet never lose their cheer.




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And an April-ish excerpt of e.e. cummings:


From Epithalamion


2.

And still the mad magnificent herald Spring
assembles beauty from forgetfulness
with the wild trump of April:witchery
of sound and odour drives the wingless thing
man forth in the bright air,for now the red
leaps in the maple's cheek,and suddenly
by shining hordes in sweet unserious dress
ascends the golden crocus from the dead.

On dappled dawn forth rides the pungent sun
with hooded day preening upon his hand
followed by gay untimid final flowers
(which dressed in various tremulous armor stun
the eyes of ragged earth who sees them pass)
while hunted from his kingdom winter cowers,
seeing green armies steadily expand
hearing the spear-song of the marching grass.

A silver sudden parody of snow
tickles the air to golden tears, and hark!
the flicker's laughing yet, while on the hills
the pines deepen to whispers primeval and throw
backward their foreheads to the barbarous bright
sky, and suddenly from the valley thrills
the unimaginable upward lark
and drowns the earth and passes into light

(slowly in life's serene perpetual round
a pale world gathers comfort to her soul,
hope richly scattered by the abundant sun
invades the new mosaic of the ground
-let but the incurious curtaining dusk be drawn
surpassing nets are sedulously spun
to snare the brutal dew,-the authentic scroll
of fairie hands and vanishing with the dawn).

Spring, that omits no mention of desire
in every curved and curling thing, yet holds
continuous intercourse-through skies and trees
the lilac's smoke the poppy's pompous fire
the pansy’s purple patience and the grave
frailty of daisies - by what rare unease
revealed of teasingly transparent folds-
with man's poor soul superlatively brave.

Surely from robes of particoloured peace
with mouth flower-faint and undiscovered eyes
and dim slow perfect body amorous
(whiter than lilies which are born and cease
for being whiter than this world)exhales
the hovering high perfume curious
of that one month for whom the whole years dies,
risen at length from palpitating veils.

O still miraculous May! O shining girl
of time untarnished! O small intimate
gently primeval hands, frivolous feet
divine! O singular and breathless pearl!
O indefinable frail ultimate pose!
O visible beatitude sweet sweet
intolerable silence immaculate
of god's evasive audible great rose!

Comments

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amanda_marrone
Apr. 10th, 2006 12:21 am (UTC)
I love your pansy poem. Here's on my son wrote two weeks ago--it's a Nonet--first line-one syllable, second--two etc.

Nonet

Squirrels

Gray
Jump, leap
Steal birdseed
Soft and furry
Dark, black, beady eyes
Lives up in high tree tops
Buries acorns in the fall
Adores living in tall, brown oaks,
Chatter, chatter, chatter when they’re mad
lkmadigan
Apr. 10th, 2006 12:35 am (UTC)
Wow! Tell your son he did a great job. I can almost see the squirrels when I read his nonet.

Wonder where he gets his writing talent?? :-)
ex_dotificu
Apr. 10th, 2006 11:21 am (UTC)
Your pansy poem is sweet like pansies.

And my, that's a lovely shade of blue.
lkmadigan
Apr. 10th, 2006 01:15 pm (UTC)
I love pansies in all forms. Especially the mischievous little Johnny Jump-ups.
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