Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”
There is a bit of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ influence here. I would not write really good sprung rhythm until later, but there is an exuberance in this celebration of the coming of spring that asked some lightening of the strict iambic pentameter of the traditional sonnet. I think it works. See what you think.
Today is a day for praising the sun in the meadow
And the high-wind, the sky-wind, that’s blown from snown peaks to our faces;
A day for the swift-gliding races of cloud-cast shadow,
For leaf-wing, bird, all things that move to be put through their paces.
A day for the laughing of maidens, the giving of graces;
A day for the splashing of singing-stream, rock-tumble water
And the blooming of sweet mountain laurel in seldom seen places.
A day for hot sun in the desert to shine even hotter;
A day for clay cliffs to be shaped by the wind-handed Potter.
Today is a day for the thunder and lightning to battle
And roar on high passes until the great stone-boulders totter
And send down the swift –ending rain while the storm windows rattle.
It’s a day for singing, for telling the oft-told story,
For praising the ancient, twy-natured enfleshment of Glory.
Remember: for more poetry like this, go to https://www.createspace.com/3562314 and order Stars Through the Clouds!
Donald T. Williams, PhD