I have been reminded that today is World Poetry Day – “a time to appreciate and support poets and poetry around the world.” Someone even went so far as to wish me a “happy” day, which seemed rather out of place as I’m never very creative when I’m happy.
Ah well, I really should post a poem, I suppose. But not having been very creative recently, it’ll have to be an old one.
This might have been more appropriate a few weeks ago, but I came across it while looking through some papers this weekend, and am re-thinking it.
signs and portents
This morning, green quilted anoraks and caps
are de rigueur (though scarves are optional)
among the old men who walk ahead of me, following
the flat road out of town. Some brandish canes
and jab at signs of spring. Buds nipple branches,
and a single scouting swallow slices the blue.
Where the road rises, surging past the sports centre,
they turn, content to have observed the season’s turn.
I pass them there, continue on, to where violets
line the bridle path. At my gate, a hallelujah
crown of crocuses awaits beyond the nibbling reach
of lop-eared lambs, and a pulsing lizard warms
his wintered blood, then twitches out of sight.
Those line-breaks seem to work on the page, but I think I’d like to change some of them, which might mean making other fundamental changes. So, let’s label it as a draft, for the moment.