The Turning
The year has finally yawned and turned
Upon a half-revealed shoulder.
A vibrancy, intrinsic to a reemerging
Enforcement of the strengthening light,
In its deliberate and unconcerned
Way, heightening, with increasing vigour,
Each new days new made morn.
From out of the kitchen window I spot a
Cautious speckled-breasted Thrush busily
Occupying itself with the practicalities of
My soaked-through and unkempt lawn;
Hopefully a chance of an unearthed grub
Or careless worm.
What was once submerged in a slumbering
Drowse
Of seasonal disrepair
Now begins to gently stir ...when, of
course, favourable conditions thus allows.
The first scrambling moil of enchanting
White Snowdrops sprouting, mostly
Unnoticed, through the dark leaf molds
Blackened surrounds.
For one who looks: all the subtle
Indicators in shy abundance everywhere.
Soon the sparse and tentative spills
Of bulbous Crocus, faint Primrose,
Vigorous Forget-me-nots. A crowding of
Lavishly painted Daffodils;
They appear, uninvited, on our neatly
Tendered roundabouts and embankments,
Invading unruly verges alongside
Narrow roads flanked by the emptied
Whitethorn hedges; a safe haven in the
Returning Springtime allowing all manner
Of varied flora and fauna to thrive.
This gradual awakening. Firstly in the
Valleys; creeping ever upwards; unto
Steep Vales and distant hills:-
Here a thawing of the stiffened and
Spiky grasses;
Encouragement for an intermingling
Entanglement of Sorrel, Tormentil and
Butterwort to propagate between
Yellow-spotted lichen rock.
Further onward yet, steadily climbing --
Then the sweeping moorland displaying
Her quilted and patchworked masses
Of purple Heather;
A windswept moors desolate beauty,
Its perfect isolation, surpasses
All I have ever known...almost as if
Grinding time haltingly pauses and begs
To dally like slow and patient shadows
Falling over the fingerless face of a
Sun-dials chimeless clock.
Yes, the year has now reluctantly awoken.
Only yesterday, out of the unattended
Confines of the marbled fields, I heard
Spoken
The introductory contentions of the
"Golden-Beaked Herald"; thence
Proceeding to enthusiastically warble,
With much determined pomp and brazen
Audacity,
Above those tilted slabs when perched
Upon the barest branch of the graveyards
Old Cherry tree;
It were as if he was compelled to show,
Feathered throat widely open,
His complete unruffled soul before the
Indifference of the whole ignorant World!
That ageless song...nearly, I wager, as
Ancient as those retreating, elusive notes
From the pipes of immortal Pan.
Whilst, summoned from within that
Ouzel's sonorous melody, which sweetly
Unfurled
Over a crisp, hammering stillness, it
Seemed to be, in that short duration,
He desperately hurled
His fullest repertoire...for the
Consideration of one unworthy man.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment