Winter’s transition to spring and the ways our habits and rituals change with the seasons inspired this poem. (If you enjoy this poem please share or re-blog it so your friends can read it too. Thanks).
The faint neon glow
of dainty purple pink blinking blooms
suspended just above the dormant brown grass
confirms we have made it through
this southern fringed winter
of light frosts and rare occasional flurries
which shut down schools and hasten
the tossing of sand on streets so drivers can
speed as usual around this polite microcosm
some assume is the center of the world.
I’m just a bystander who will soon engage the seasonal change
pushing a mower without any rage
over clumps of weeds I should kill with poison
to ensure I am looking green without living
that back-to-earth philosophy proclaimed on
monster sized trucks and SUVs racing to
softball games, baseball games, soccer games
where everyone else is the blame
for your kid’s team losing, again.
Winter is never the same
on retreating and the different ways
are as subtle as an insult to a priest or minister
over a sermon they’ve given to drum up guilt
increasing collections and reflections on
the sin of the day.
Oh hell, I guess I’ll quit now
and go outside to play
with the sinners and saints
and observe spring’s superstars
and car drivers who will cut me off
as I drive to a park seeking tranquility
and a fresh breath of spring.
Gregory Zeorlin 3/23/2015 @ 4:31pm
Read more of my poetry at http://www.ZeorlinArt.com