Spring © J C Milne
The sparrows, the sea and the swirling winds
fanfare the spring; the rough rustle of the hedge
flurries feathers and wings, the crackle, crack
of foliage ripped by salty gales and slamming hail,
the sparring in the wreckage for birth-nests,
the searching out of holes and dens in walls,
the squabbling, screech, the bold, loud chirp,
the sprout of maleness in the morning.
The dove, cooing, asserting, beyond and above,
her nesting whim, makes for the rusting shine
of, and this surprises, a satellite dish; she likes
the warmth of wall and safety of the log of twigs
brought to the broad hinge; she sits, day on day,
cooing through breakfast, noon and even
through cautious steppings through the door,
anxious, when her young peek and explore.
The shore casts off its winter blight in weed,
rich, spoiling for the sound brown earth,
red, remembering iodine wealth of yore,
offering, browning then in sorrow for the lost
heyday of harvest; the sea moans for its store,
throws wave on foaming wave, replenishing,
tending the drying, neglected fronds that once
were life or death when the potatoes rose,
heavy and supple, with the wonders of the ocean
nourished. Spring renews, cherishes new-born
of song thrush, sparrow, dove, and the sea’s yield;
this morning a linnet sang to burst her tiny lungs,
rock pigeons found their docile wives; the robin
and the starling shared their feed, nuts and seed,
the old year’s plenty brought to the new, cast
and mould, in which we live and breathe, aglow.
fanfare the spring; the rough rustle of the hedge
flurries feathers and wings, the crackle, crack
of foliage ripped by salty gales and slamming hail,
the sparring in the wreckage for birth-nests,
the searching out of holes and dens in walls,
the squabbling, screech, the bold, loud chirp,
the sprout of maleness in the morning.
The dove, cooing, asserting, beyond and above,
her nesting whim, makes for the rusting shine
of, and this surprises, a satellite dish; she likes
the warmth of wall and safety of the log of twigs
brought to the broad hinge; she sits, day on day,
cooing through breakfast, noon and even
through cautious steppings through the door,
anxious, when her young peek and explore.
The shore casts off its winter blight in weed,
rich, spoiling for the sound brown earth,
red, remembering iodine wealth of yore,
offering, browning then in sorrow for the lost
heyday of harvest; the sea moans for its store,
throws wave on foaming wave, replenishing,
tending the drying, neglected fronds that once
were life or death when the potatoes rose,
heavy and supple, with the wonders of the ocean
nourished. Spring renews, cherishes new-born
of song thrush, sparrow, dove, and the sea’s yield;
this morning a linnet sang to burst her tiny lungs,
rock pigeons found their docile wives; the robin
and the starling shared their feed, nuts and seed,
the old year’s plenty brought to the new, cast
and mould, in which we live and breathe, aglow.
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by
Ilse
(new)
Mar 01, 2021 07:15AM
Aglow, reading your beautiful poem, Jeanne. It is cold now, but the feeling of spring beginning, with the sun last week and the tortoises awaking from hibernating two months earlier than usual is powerful, as you captured well.
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Thank you, Ilse! It's lovely to hear about your spring, and your venturesome tortoises! I wrote the poem after opening the kitchen door yesterday onto the noisy chattering of sparrows from the hedge, and the brimming sea beyond - and no gale howling to the attack (unlike last week when my supermarket trolley kept being blown back to the Co-op instead of to the car, and trailing me along with it!).
Thanks for your new and substantial poetry book, ‘Stark Land’.I haven't read them all. Some hurt. As with all good poems they get richer with rereading.
Knowing a little of your life the poems unveil a little more of a rather wonderful yet modest person,
‘..a prism in the morning’.
John, you have moved me to tears, thank you. You are the first person to read "Stark Land", which only arrived here the day before it found its way into your letterbox. As you indicate, it reveals something of how I coped with the challenges of life. I had to 'psych up' to publishing some of these poems but I feel they might contain something that other people in these situations could respond to - always my motivation.
