A Month(ish) of Poetry

LindaPastanquoteIf you’ve been following along on the blog these past few weeks, you know that April was National Poetry Month. For the second year in a row, I made a habit of posting a poem each day in April. (Go here to read the introduction to this year’s series.) I’ve always loved poetry but had stopped reading it. The practice of sharing a poem each day was a way for me to rediscover it. (You can read my initial post on this idea here.) This year, as vacation planning and other writing projects took up my free time, my posting became somewhat inconsistent. Despite that, I shared 21 poems in April, most of them new to me.

One of my favorite things about this project is discovering new poems and poets. This year, I read Linda Pastan’s work for the first time. Her piece “Imaginary Conversation” was my favorite last month. After being immersed in poetry, I’m always more encouraged to write some of my own. I have a copy of Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook to nudge me in that direction. Stay tuned. Until then, here are all the poems in the series. Click on the titles to see the post.

Spring is like a perhaps hand
by ee cummings

Spring Storm
by William Carlos Williams

Song of the Trees
by Mary Colborne-Veel

If the Owl Calls Again
by John Haines

Each Year
by Dora Malech

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
by William Wordsworth

Breakfast
by Minnie Bruce Pratt

Goldfish Are Ordinary
by Stacie Cassarino

Cold Spring
by Lawrence Raab

Life
by Charlotte Brontë

The Visible and In-
by Marge Piercy

God’s Grandeur
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The Traveling Onion
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Filling Station
by Elizabeth Bishop

The Land of Nod
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Forty Years
by Mary Oliver

Putting in the Seed
by Robert Frost

Sonnet 115
by William Shakespeare

Imaginary Conversation
by Linda Pastan

The Enkindled Spring
by D.H. Lawrence

Vocational Training
by Carrie Shipers

The Enkindled Spring

IMG_1010The Enkindled Spring
by D.H. Lawrence

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.