“It is hard to contend against one’s heart’s desire; for whatever it wishes to have it buys at the cost of soul.” - Heraclitus
I am nearly done with my surfeit of work and things are beginning to return to normal – a slightly more relaxed day-to-day existence. I may think of other things again and what better than to participate in the Poets United Midweek Motif this week, which states: “Write a new poem capturing the details of an outdoor scene or day in April.”
Here is my contribution:
April in the Antipodes
My heart stirs silently like a swollen seed,
Its thirst slaked after a long Winter’s rains.
Green vibrant juices begin to flow
Under a cracking husk.
I feel within me rise Spring’s viridian sap;
Life awakens yet again,
The seed must germinate, the flower must bloom.
The clock within has struck the hour.
But all the Spring that I conceal within
Each April dies as Antipodean moon
Wanes, waxes cold, looking at me
Up in the sky fixed upended.
The burgeoning cotyledons every April will unfurl,
In cold grey Autumn skies and chilling winds
They find no shelter, no encouragement.
The first, emerald-green leaves will wither,
As yet another seedling lies shrivelled up, yellow, unfulfilled.
Sleep yet again my Northern April,
As Winter, Winter follows here in the South,
Spring merely poetic licence...
Here is my contribution:
April in the Antipodes
My heart stirs silently like a swollen seed,
Its thirst slaked after a long Winter’s rains.
Green vibrant juices begin to flow
Under a cracking husk.
I feel within me rise Spring’s viridian sap;
Life awakens yet again,
The seed must germinate, the flower must bloom.
The clock within has struck the hour.
But all the Spring that I conceal within
Each April dies as Antipodean moon
Wanes, waxes cold, looking at me
Up in the sky fixed upended.
The burgeoning cotyledons every April will unfurl,
In cold grey Autumn skies and chilling winds
They find no shelter, no encouragement.
The first, emerald-green leaves will wither,
As yet another seedling lies shrivelled up, yellow, unfulfilled.
Sleep yet again my Northern April,
As Winter, Winter follows here in the South,
Spring merely poetic licence...
Are there actually seeds that respond to a fake spring and die? I think it possible that some contrary nature plays thus with our courage.
ReplyDelete'the flower must bloom.' this is April in our part, perhaps a bit different from yours...
ReplyDeleteOur early Spring blooms were greeted with a hard freeze, but somehow Spring manages to march on, despite obstacles, and the world is turning green.
ReplyDeleteApril for you is winter weather, yes. May your Winter be warm and a time for recuperation and rest. Lovely but a bit chilly. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThe calendar says, it's spring, but winter is still lingering here. As threats of snow, fills the weather forecast, marking winter's last stand, until late November or early December. Do hope, your winters are milder, filled with cool breezes and bright sunny days.
ReplyDeleteAh, your poem is a reminder that you are heading toward autumn as we in the Northern Hemisphere are heading toward spring.
ReplyDeleteIt is amazing to think of your world going into autumn as we welcome spring. The endless cycle............
ReplyDeleteI read this poem as one of a yearning for Spring where Autumn comes. Is it a yearning for lost youth, I wonder? Or perhaps, with the emphasis on the Northern/Southern points of view, it could be a Southern Hemisphere person's yearning for the Northern seasons? A fascinating and very melancholy read, nevertheless...
ReplyDeleteA wonderful comparison of April's hemispherical moods. Having always known the northern one, both eastern and western, which aren't exactly the same.
ReplyDeletePoppy
Ah, but some parts of the Antipodes have (usually) such beautiful autumns that it has always been my favourite season. This year, however, it has been a nightmare so far with cyclone, rains and floods. I hope climate change hasn't ruined it forever!
ReplyDeleteLovely poem that somehow makes me think of nostalgic thoughts of things that have been and have passed and are now unattainable. Great example of how poetry can be so suggestive of deep feelings with few words and lovely images.
ReplyDelete