I decided to write about my feelings on April today. The weather is so wonderfully dramatic, here in Germany. The clouds! So full of water, so billowy, powerful, yet somehow fragile as they break up into ever more clouds. And the leaves coming out - and the cherry blossoms! This month is never dull, as life pops out all over.
As I am aware that I am approaching my 65th birthday, and that my life is rushing towards its end, even as I feel I've barely begun. But writing this poem taught me something. Writing poetry is wonderful! You find out things you never knew about - like that April teaches us about new beginnings and that the end we just came through is not far behind us.
Here's the poem. By the way, I sent it right away to Poetry.com, and it got reviewed! Talk about fast feedback.
God, you should get a patent for April.
For the endless panorama of water-stained white
clouds racing through the sky to see who
gets there, wherever there is, first.
For the icy wind tearing down from the
northern coast, reminding me that I’ve not come far
For layered sky-sheets where you start with ornery dark grey,
and end with baby blue peeking behind the
edge, promising new birth.
God, you should get a prize for April.
For the magic of somber, dead stumps
You brush with hints of palest green.
Brown gives way to wispy whitish feathered leaves
and cherry blossoms and apple too.
Pastels shine through moody days,
sunlight giving way to battering ice balls, and back to
sparkling rain-washed prisms.
Sprouting leaves and fragile blossoms are fresher, tougher
than fiercest stormy hail
which only serves to hail newness of life
awakening all around, as you paint
the tulips brilliant shades of red and yellow.
Nature rushes all around in urgent contractions
As everything from lambs to leaves are born,
reminding me that I, too, will be made new, as I am now made new as I age.
April is the drama you wrote in pastel and fury
to tell us the end is only the beginning.
I witness your April show and have no patent for you, no prize but my praise.