Monday
Small dogs blow down the street like leaves,
their small heads bobbing. The children shine
on their way to school, sails adrift amidst blacktop
and metal. I read them the way mystics
read tea leaves. The signs all portend
spring. Observe: the tulips yearn toward
blossomed branches, which wag and ripple in the wind.
The mountains dance on the horizon, festooned
with snow and ribbons of grass. I want to sing
my sorrows like an ode: Oh, Spring,
you are too much with me, late and soon,
your sunshine dogs my day, the long beams
lapping at my legs; you run recklessly
over my desire to gripe and moan.
Oh Spring, you successfully seduce me.
(for this poem, I came up with a list of verbs and then I just chose a form)
Poem A Day 