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Welcome Spring

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Tinker

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IMG_0074(1).jpgI Wandered Lonely As a Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
               ~~William Wordsworth


Hi,  Happy Spring~~

Spring is about renewal, new life.  Hope is reborn.   Funny, it's hard to find a Spring poem without it being about flowers or with a referral to flowers somewhere in the poem.  Daffodils, lilac, and here in California, poppies are in full bloom right now.  The fields are blanketed with color.  Delicate blossoms tentatively open in orchards across the land.  Spring inspires by virtue of the vibrant colors, the newness that springs up everywhere you look.   Poets have long tried to capture its message.

The Reverdie (Old French - re-greening) is a genre of verse from the Middle Ages that welcomed the arrival of Spring. It celebrates the new green of the fields, the return of the birds singing and the traditional time of love. Emphasis is on the diminutive or small things. Often Spring would be symbolized by a young maiden, similar to the Irish Aisling in which a woman symbolizing Ireland described her plight. 

With Spring comes Easter and some poets use the genre to celebrate the resurrection comparing the coming of Spring with the longing for heaven or using the verse to praise of the Virgin Mary. Later Occitan troubadours extended the genre to the coming of other seasons. The frame is at the discretion of the poet. However, poets have often used the frame of the Chanson in 5 or 6 stanzas without refrain.

 

Spring

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;                       
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
                          

 

 


 


 


 

 

Lines Written in Early Spring

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts                    
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
              ~~ William Wordsworth

Feurzauber

I never knew the earth had so much gold—
The fields run over with it, and this hill
Hoary and old,
Is young with buoyant blooms that flame and thrill.

Such golden fires, such yellow—lo, how good
This spendthrift world, and what a lavish God!
This fringe of wood,
Blazing with buttercup and goldenrod.

You too, beloved, are changed. Again I see
Your face grow mystical, as on that night
You turned to me,
And all the trembling world—and you—were white.

Aye, you are touched; your singing lips grow dumb;
The fields absorb you, color you entire . . .
And you become
A goddess standing in a world of fire!
                                     ~~~Louis Untermeyer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take a walk where ever you may be, breathe in the flowers and welcome Spring with your own poem.

Have a happy Spring day,     Tinker aka Judi Van Gorder

I smile
when the daffodils bloom,
Spring's happy face.
                            ~jvg

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March 21, 2019

March twenty-first
is World Poetry Day!
What would this world be
without the beauty
of words artfully
placed upon a page for someone to read,
exploring, condensing a poet's soul?

March twenty-first
also heralds in Spring!
Applaud the vibrant
colors of new life,
sweet reverdie's pledge
to paint images in vivid phrases.
I pen the season's display on a scroll.
                      ~~Judi Van Gorder
                            Verse Form: Duodora

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