After I got home from work this afternoon, K & I went to a favourite cafe for a coffee and sat outside in the sun beside the sea and watched the waves unfurling in a perfect performance of symmetry.
Because of a personal crisis with a member of our family, we are all a little downcast at the moment. However it seems the weather is determined to cheer us up. Also, with the evidence of spring's abundance of energy, and everywhere symbols of hope and new beginnnings, one can't help but take heart.
Which all sounds a little like a romantic poet's viewpoint, so I have decided to compose a fittingly romantic poem in the style of Wordsworth or Coleridge. Although I think I'd actually prefer it to be more representative of Byron or Dickinson, my favourite romantics. The poem is my Poetry Thursday contribution (even though in this hemisphere it's now Friday early evening ...)
Normally I do not write like a romantic poet (well, I certainly hope not anyway) so, yes, this poem qualifies as something I wouldn't normally write. It's about some crocuses I saw one morning on my way to work. There they were in all their glory, surrounded by grass turned white from a heavy frost. The photo is one I took of the same crocuses, except taken on a sunny, frost-free day, so they don't look half as brave as they did that particular frosty morning.
Crocuses in the Frost
To the side of a path
I tread this day,
crocuses bloom
in formal array.
Such their bright aspect
of purple fit for king,
it does stop my throat
and tears unbidden spring.
For among blighted grass,
their bright vests undone,
each flower's heart exposed:
flayed by frost, healed by sun.
