And this is what I love about poetry. Mostly it grows naturally.
And this is what frustrates me about poetry. Natural growth can take a while.
By “naturally”, I mean that poetry is mostly organic. A seed is planted in your brain and then, bam, it’s a poem. Last night for instance, I was staying at an Airbnb with my daughter. I saw this set of instructions for guests.
I laughed and asked my daughter, “Well, that’s fine for summer and winter. But what about weather like this, like in weird spring?” (There was a frost warning last night, to give you an idea.) And then I said, “Weird Spring would be a great name for a band.”
She agreed and we moved on, but those two words stuck in my brain. And it turns out, they make a pretty decent poem, too.
By Michelle Garren-Flye
That moment when the air stops
and a stillness falls
like just before a storm
but then the music crashes in
and it’s weird spring
and you’re on the road again
with violets blooming
on the brick walls
and words dripping from arbors
like sweet-smelling jasmine
or wistful wisteria
and everything is purple all day long
and gold at night
when you hold my hand in the moonlight
because it’s weird spring
and anything is possible.
I like this, Michelle. Your words are perfect. I love the pink flowers!
Thank you for reading it. And yeah, I love azaleas.