First in Line
by Lydia Daffenberg
There's something to be said for keeping with the artistic intention of a work which is the reason I chose to use a small font to keep the structure, hence flow, of the poem intact.
Hints of renewed life flit along hitching a ride on lukewarm breezes;
The forgotten colors of earth promise return like the carnival coming to town.
I breathe in anticipation becoming a child--
Imagining the taste of cotton-candy,
Hearing the distant sounds of the calliope and delighting in the clowns' painted faces.
A few survivalist leaves cling relentlessly to thin-ended branches--
The remaining undergarnments of almost-bare trees--
Dancing their last bump and grind of the season in the 10 o'clock burlesque,
Preparing for their grand finale: Spring.
Curvaceous new buds will soon emerge, pushing the aged and tattered leaves aside--
The new stage show replacing the worn-out with heightened excitement.
The ravaged, seasoned leaves hang; their crumpled bodies sagging toward the ground,
Reminiscing their Glory Days.
The park is yet bare of new life but that of a small boy who
Stampedes through melted snow puddles
Killing Ol' Man Winter with every leap--
Aiding in the reunion of earth and water into muddy pools.
I wait around to be the first in line to purchase
A red perforated-edged ticket and an overflowing bag of stale-tasting popcorn,
Wondering if my stamina will outlast the young lad's.
posted by Lydia Daffenberg @ 5:42 PM
2 Comments:
When I read good poetry, I always wonder how someone becomes a poet. You, my dear, are a poet--a great poet. Poet Laureate level poet--it just takes the right people to notice.
You can beat the combined imagery of sight and sound: calliope and clowns. I also like the undergarments that are revealed at the "10 o'clock burlesque," bumping and grinding. Great imagery and an excellent 'moment of time' captured. Most peole can't appreciate good poetry--don't be deterred, though. Your poem is excellent and a delightful read. I like that I feel caught between summer and winter after reading this.
Thanks, I'm glad at least one person reads my real writing and actually likes it. Too bad it's my hubby and not a writing agent--you're not an agent are ya?
Ya gotta expect no comments when posting poetry and fiction, I guess, but no comments are always a let down when the writing means something to you.
This poem is one of my old ones, I have to write some new stuff (poetry and fiction) and stop writing so many damn informative essays. Or something.
Thanks, you cheered me.
--Lyd
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