The Sound of It, Spring
April, late enough there’s forsythia everywhere—how could I forget it, it’s so shocking, toothy and gold. I have to remind myself it’s beautiful. The tulip trees, like I said, blossoms big as teacups. What strange names we come into the world with, and for. Nameless—to be named on the earth, as one of the earth’s things, a thing alongside all else—. For instance the narcissus, now closing primly, drawn purse strings. And the birds, oh the birds are everywhere these days. Strange, the notion of migration, the question always a matter of return, dashed lines of the aerial view. Does sky clatter; is it silent? And dying? That must happen every so often. How many travel together, do they sleep in trees, no time to construct an overnight nest? Do our birds prefer particulars, a blue height, length of limb, do they know? I can’t help but ask them: Send news.
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About the Author
Elizabeth Gramm is a writer and teacher living in Turkey.
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THE SKY CLATTERS LITTLE
SO DO
BIRDS\' CHIRPINGS
MIGRATION IS LOOSING
ITS ULTIMATE DESIRE
TO RETURN
HOME
FOR THERE BE NO SPACE LEFT!
HOUSES DO NOT SIGNIFY
HOME :MINE,YOURS,OURS!
THE NEST
CHOPPED DOWN
GREEN GRASSES MOPPED ALOUD!
YET,
THERE IS SOME HOPE
FOR WE HV STILL SOME
TREES,TULIPS
LEFT VIRGIN AND PURE!
LIFE SHADOWED
ALL SPRINGS
SINCE WE STOPPED CARING
OUR ROOTS!
APRIL
AND,VERY LATE!
WATER THE TREE!
SUMMER IS GOING TO BE
VERY VERY HOT!
AND,
WHEN THE TIME IS UP
FOR ME
YOU
AND
ALL
EVERY NAME BECOMES NAMELESS
AND,
WE BID GOODBYE!
A beautiful poem.
Please restructure it. . .then let me do the reading.A bit clustered,it appears.
Hopefully,the honorable poet wl examine my request!
Thank you!
MRITYUNJAY JHA
SAMASTIPUR
BIHAR
INDIA.
MJ1982M@twitter.com
MJ1982M.WORDPRESS.COM
your memory,
the sound of
a swallow
appears near
a white cloud
recalling the
youth.
Francesco Sinibaldi