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April arises from the snow
with shining eyes and hair aflow
to greet the sun
of Spring's joy-glow.

See! Paeony thrusting from the ground
and bursting leaf-buds on the rose
and honeysuckle twining round
hydraengea's fat red buds - and oh!
smell the sweet mint-spikes new found!

Flowering currant greets the dawn
and daffodil her fair face lifts
while in the river fishes spawn
and leap in sparkling torrents deep:
the laughing otter's bourne.

April arises from the snow
with shining hair and face aglow
to greet the sun
of Spring's life-flow.

Fljotsdale

Good morning, Fljotsdale ~ this is beautiful.

You said you feel you speak with a voice your age, and this poem actually 'reminds' me of ones I used to read when I was a little girl. My Dad had constructed some built-in shelves the length of the upstairs hallway, on the side that joined with the stairs. The shelves were two-high and came about four feet up from the floor, with a wide ledge on the top.

Aside from my own room, that was my favourite part of the house, when I was able to go up there alone and sit on the floor, pull the books out from eye level, to read. My Dad's 'secretary' desk, with more books in the top, was at the end of the hall near the window. Opposite the bookshelves were curved-glass curios, filled with various, antique dishes of my grandmother's and my doll collection. I'd go up there for hours. Two poems I remember the impact of [can't tell you their author] was, "Say It Now" and "Do It Now." They both related to not saving what you want to say or do until another day, because that day may never come. If you want to tell a person something good, now is the time, because if you wait too long, they may be in their grave.

I read those two poems many, many times, and the image of a person being buried in their grave, before I got a chance to tell them how I feel, both struck and haunted me. It impacted me over and over again, with each reading. Even as young as I was [eight and on], I recognized the lesson. My Dad used to tell me I wore my heart on my sleeve, and he worried about my getting hurt. I know that how I express myself now is simply who I am. My own influences in life show through.

Many, other poems in those books were about nature and the writers' love for it. Yours has that same feel. Your simple, true, genuine, and uncontrived love of nature and its beauty. Gentle, soft, flowing words. Appreciation for the life that comes with each new season of birth, rebirth, and awakening. Potent words like hydrangea, daffodil, and spawn. " . . . fat red buds - and oh!" Not only do you use the word "joy," but your poem exudes it, throughout! The images of April as a woman, the beholder of life . I love it. Not trying to impress, but simply to express your own, high regard. I felt very peaceful, calm, and relaxed, as your own words turned as the seasons do. The rhythm feels like one of those of olde. I like it very much. Your images are lovely . Your poem is appreciative and fresh . I felt both nostalgia and reverie in reading it.


Did our talking, elsewhere, about the film "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring" inspire you to share this particular one? I'm glad you did, Fljotsdale . Please share more .

Love,
Lizzy

Fljots! you have posted this at entirely the wrong time of year! Spring is my favourite season (so are summer autumn and winter) and I like your poem for how it evokes the wonder and delight (including your delight) of spring’s awakenings. Nice.

Diane

PS You have reminded me of a lovely Mary Oliver Poem about Peonies, which I am going to stick in the ‘other poetry’ section.

Lizzy - that sounds like an idyllic location, at the top of the stairs - I would have loved it to bits. With me, it was three places: My granny's front room with it's bookcase of strange and wonderful books, most of which I didn't understand, even though I read a lot of them. She kept her button-box in there as well - endless fascination for an imaginative child! And her lovely, fragile ornaments which we (my brother and I) were not allowed to play with, but did, sometimes disastrously.
The second was Sunday morning at home reading a set of Junior encyclopoedias (great fat things) full of history and fascinating facts - but my favourite was the one on literature which was stuffed full of extracts from books, poetry, Aesop's Fables, Fairy tales from all over the world... a wonderful book!
The third was a secret hiding place I found under a hedge bounding a field near home. I would go there with a book to get away from everyone, but I didn't read much of the book, because I was too busy watching the insects and birds that treated me like so much hedge furniture, lol! I spent hours in the fields, too, lying on my front, watching bugs in the grass, or mice in the wheat, or gathering mushrooms in the potato fields, or digging up what we called 'truffles' though I imagine they were no such thing. Everyone else called them 'pig nuts'. I still don't know what they really were, lol!

I'm glad you liked the poem. It was spring when I wrote it, quite a few years ago, now, and I still remember that garden, with the little river bounding one end of it.
Spring is my favourite time of year.

Diane - I know it is the wrong time of year! But late autumn is a good time to look forward to spring, hey?

I'm glad you liked the poem.

I know it isn't clever or modern, and there are two lines I need to change a bit, but I haven't worked out how to do it properly yet. One day it will just come to me.

BTW - this is the third poem I have posted here. The other two are Ludlow Walls and Lament.

And none of 'em are clever!

Hi Fljotsdale ~

I guess I missed the prereq that poetry must be clever . I'm looking forward to reading "Softly," but later.

~ Lizzy

Hi Fljots, clever poetry takes me too long to figure out, so that's fine. I'll hunt down your other poems when I've time to give them due attention.

See you,

Diane

Hi Fljots ~

Yes, it was idyllic, in its own, humble way . Reading your own history in that regard, I wonder if you've incorporated those elements into one or several poems [or a short story, perhaps?] somewhere in your collection. They're rich with detail . Thanks for sharing your own pieces of personal history .

I love Spring, too, Fljotsdale .

~ Lizzy

Hm. No, not directly, I think. But life experience is inevitably incorporated into everything we think or write, isn't it?

My poems 'Lament', 'Softly', and 'Ludlow City Walls' (all posted in here) are all direct personal experience, though, as is 'April'.