I will not write love poetry this spring

I will not write love poetry this spring
even when the season makes the city giddy,
every block a white bosom bared,
the fluffy brevity of topless trees,
blank pages to pen an epic romance.

And I want to be eleven again,
climbing into the clouds
to squeeze the delicate blooms
that touch skin for the first time.

But, alas, I must resist the stirrings of spring–
the flirty birdsong through open window
as I brush my teeth to the timing,
then later stop myself from humming
ancient, glistening melodies.

And I want to be eight again,
falling from the nest.
Terrified of trial and error,
independent for the first time.

No, I must simply stop myself from admiring
the neighbor’s firm stalks–
daffodils and pussy willows,
soft caterpillars, ripe for new cocoons,
all tingly as tufts of newborn hair.

And I want that magical spring,
the newborn boy with tulip cheeks
arrived to twist a lock of hair
for the first time.

Not today, I say, as I cross the street
avoiding the erect form of Forsythia
flashing me from the corner,
all golden bells and whistles.
I catch a peek of sultry stem,
sunshine poking through the path.

And I want it to be that spring
the birds and bees had meaning,
unfiltered trust, longing
for the first time.

Foreswear this season;
I won’t be swayed.
Spring, you have no power over me.
I repeat this mantra, 1, 2, 3,
swallowing these inflorescent feelings.

© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved


The Artist: Tricia Newell studied Illustration and Graphic Design at Ipswich Art School. She is a talented freelance illustrator and printmaker.

She shares in her bio: “I would like to think that my work reflects a life which has been close to nature. I enjoy exploring the idea that we are just a small part of something much greater and nature is at the very core of everything.” Be sure to visit her website to explore her current works.

‘Spring’ By Tricia Newell

22 Comments

  1. Beautiful vivid imagery, K! Really brings the scene to life ❤
    'climbing into the clouds
    to squeeze the delicate blooms
    touching skin for the first time.'

    'the neighborhood’s firm stalks–
    daffodils and pussy willows,
    soft caterpillars, ripe for new cocoons,' – brilliant descriptive verses here! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you very much, Tom. I kept trying to not write about spring, but it’s so aggressive this season. Contagious even. I’m so glad you enjoyed the poem. It can use a few more spins in the rock tumbler, but, not today. Cheers to spring things. 🐣

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Absolutely beautiful, K.💕
    “But, alas, I must resist the stirrings of spring–
    the flirty birdsong through open window
    as I brush my teeth to the timing,
    then later stop myself from humming
    ancient, glistening melodies.”💕

    Liked by 1 person

  4. there is a lot to unpack in this: the giddy procession of imagery, the to and fro-ing of desire, and the poignant pull of the neverland urge to become childlike again; a rich and wondrous —

    Liked by 1 person

      1. yes I do: one spring morning when the kids really were just kids my daughter and I saw a newly born foal with its mum in the horse paddock at the end of our street

        Like

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