Then It Was Spring . . . All the World Awoke

Likely, daffodils, tulips, and crocuses crossed your mind. Or maybe you remembered the cacophony of wildflowers framing the roadway like an invitation to somewhere important.

The earth awakes this time of year, but something else brightens these spring days.

Welcome to April and National Poetry Month!

Please don’t groan!

Poetry surrounds us and sneaks into our brain through commercials, songs, and the occassional whim of a nerdy writer like me.

How did this love begin?

In the supermarket. I would stand looking at all The Little Golden Books on the rack hoping my mother would buy one more to add to my growing collection.

My introduction to poetry came from The Little Golden Book of Poetry, sounding the words and repeating each line until I could recite the poem by heart. This “game” has followed me all my life, capturing my favorite lines and never letting them go.

I learned about rhyme from Kate Greenaway’s “Susan Blue.”

Oh, Susan Blue,
How do you do?
Please, may I go for a walk with you?
Where shall we go?
Oh, I know―
Down in the meadow where the cowslips grow!

In high school, I devoured Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Amy Lowell, e.e. Cummings, Carl Sandburg, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who died a month before turning 102. These poets became my mentors.

Each brought different insights and ways of viewing humanity and the world. Along the way, I learned about myself and began writing my own poems.

Even as an adult, I keep Robert Frost’s Complete Poems or Mary Oliver’s Devotion nearby continuing my game of committing poetic words to memory. You may laugh at my little endeavor. I can’t explain this poetry fetish of mine.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I―
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
―Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”

The words, rhymes, and meter of poets past and present can make me laugh, cry, reflect, and discover emotions I didn’t know were hiding inside me.

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention…
―Mary Oliver, “Praying”

Poets speak the truth and challenge our convictions. They paint vivid pictures of life revealing our goodness and the evil we try to ignore.

Some poems demand that we read them aloud, especially by the poet. We discover the strength, power, or tenderness of the words through the voice of the poet.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
―Maya Angelou, “Still I Rise” (Listen to Angelou)

I could go on . . . and on.

You say you’re not a poetry lover?

I have a challenge for you. Find a quiet place, a chair or park bench, and read a poem or two.

Or, write a poem of your own. I’ll be waiting to read your treasure or learn about the poems or poets you discover.

Poems―

sights and sounds

words flying by

in a frenzied state.

―Kathryn

A song for you

Rod McKuen, poet and singer/songwriter, wrote over 1500 songs, and I have four of his books of poetry. Frank Sinatra, Glen Yarborough, and others recorded “Love’s Been Good to Me,” but McKuen’s heartfelt version remains my favorite.