Welcome, all, to your March 10th-not-yet-15th Poetry Roundup. I'm here first to share some poetry history with a few selections that may be considered the Odes of March, and then to share a couple of my own before you share your offerings for today. Let's get jigging!
| How bragly it beginnes to budde, | |||
| And utter his tender head? | 15 | ||
| Flora now calleth forth eche flower, | |||
| And bids make ready Maias bowre, | |||
| That newe is upryst from bedde. | |||
| Tho shall we sporten in delight, | |||
| And learne with Lettice to wexe light, |
Yet winter seems half weary of its toil
And round the ploughman on the elting soil
Will thread a minutes sunshine wild and warm
Thro the raggd places of the swimming storm
Victorian: Algernon Charles Swinburne
Fain, fain would we see but again for an hour what the wind and the sun have dispelled and consumed,
How glad I am—
I hoped for you before—
Put down your Hat—
You must have walked—
How out of Breath you are—
Turn-of-the-Century: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Severe of face, gaunt-armed, and wildly dressed,
She is not fair nor beautiful to see.
But merry April and sweet smiling May
Come not till March has first prepared the way.
whistles far and wee
The moon is naked.
The wind has undressed the moon.
The wind has blown all the cloud-garments
Off the body of the moon
And now she’s naked,
Because of this
the ground, that winter nightmare,
has cured its sores and burst
with green birds and vitamins.
21st Century: Catherine Pond
Sometimes the medicine works
and sometimes it doesn’t. The fact remains
that it’s warmer than ever: 76 degrees today
in Central Park. A silver maple burns beneath
the bridge. A sailboat comes apart in the pond.
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And now, a couple of odes to March 11, because my birthday gift to myself is hosting you all here at my juicy little universe.
[poem]
[poem]
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Add your link below, and thanks for Marching with me all these years!
You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!
