Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Bradford pear blossoms.

'Tis National Poetry Month. 
One of my favorite poets, Billy Collins, has this lament about some students of poetry:
"... all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it."

I hope you'll be more gentle with mine.

Spring falls so softly
on the eye.
No rude alarm,
no blinding light    
snapped on in the midst 
of our winter’s night.
Spring whispers, nudges, coaxes.
It wakes us gently,
thaws our senses,
we, who have dreamed too long
in winter’s frozen palette.
Awakened, I wander,
eyes open to wonder:
Willow sighs with pale green sweeps.
Crocus peeps.
Dogwood dreams in pink and white.
Apple blossoms, pear delights.
The season’s lovely,
swift and sweet.
Breathing deep,
I head toward home
and find the promise of lilac.
Green stars hide beneath.
P.S. If you like Billy Collins, or if you've never had the pleasure of reading his poetry, come to Abington Free Library next Wednesday at 7 p.m. His collection "Sailing Alone Around the Room" is the pick for April's Ruth R. Abel Memorial Book and Film Discussion Group. 
To register for this free program, stop by the library office, call 215-885-5180, ext. 15, or email 


  1. that is so lovely. thank you for those beauteful words. and Billy.

  2. Cathy -

    I was just catching up on your previous posts & as always a smile crossed my lips. What a beautiful poem. :)