Happy Poetry Thursday everyone!
I have to admit, after posting a poem every day in April, I've been slow to post anything this month. Also, it's warm outside so my brain is now switching over to spring/summer mode.
Writing this week's poem felt like I was still able to tap into that place I go to create something new. Like exercise, my poetry muscles are in shape now, and fall back into a routine when needed. I did use the new, hip-and-cool Poetry Thursday Randomizer this week. After a few tries, I thought long and hard on the word "shade." The poem still needs work, and I'm not sure about the title.
Looking forward to reading your poetry this week.
The forsythia are dying,
as sure as my name is May.
They were goners before my hands
snapped the twigs, leaving nothing
but their jagged edges to bend in the wind.
Such is the life of those
sequestered into hibernation.
After winter’s long silence
there’s a need to possess
this bit of beauty.
Soon the petals will close and shrivel
then the tulips, the daffodils—those bigmouths
rendered speechless under the afternoon shade.
They had to know this was coming,
this change, this grieving.
If you speak to the cardinals,
they’ll tell you to lower your expectations.
But the bees, they’ll confess
it was over before it ever began.