a blue true dream of sky

i thank You God for most this amazing 
by e. e. cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)


This poem makes me so happy. I've just about memorized it simply from reading it over and over again in the past few weeks. It's the perfect poem for all this spring weather, and it reminds me of how lovely things really are. Enjoy.

According to Facebook . . .

it's high time I reconnected with my good friend, Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

I mean, we even share the same birthday. With a bond that close, you'd wonder how I ever lost touch?

Now the question is, does reconnecting mean simply reading some more poetry or will it require holding a seance?

Decisions, decisions.

Suddenly is a lovely word

I love this poem. I first heard it when Billy Collins did a reading at BYU a few years ago. Enjoy!

Tension

by Billy Collins

Never use the word suddenly just to create tension.

-Writing Fiction

Suddenly, you were planting some yellow petunias

outside in the garden,

and suddenly I was in the study

looking up the word oligarchy for the thirty-seventh time.

When suddenly, without warning,

you planted the last petunia in the flat,

and I suddenly closed the dictionary

now that I was reminded of that vile form of governance.

A moment later, we found ourselves

standing suddenly in the kitchen

where you suddenly opened a can of cat food

and I just as suddenly watched you doing that.

I observed a window of leafy activity

and beyond that, a bird perched on the edge

of the stone birdbath

when suddenly you announced you were leaving

to pick up a few things at the market

and I stunned you by impulsively

pointing out that we were getting low on butter

and another case of wine would not be a bad idea.

Who could tell what the next moment would hold?

another drip from the faucet?

another little spasm of the second hand?

Would the painting of a bowl of pears continue

to hang on the wall from that nail?

Would the heavy anthologies remain on the shelves?

Would the stove hold its position?

Suddenly, it was anyone’s guess.

The sun rose ever higher in the sky.

The state capitals remained motionless on the wall map

when suddenly I found myself lying on a couch

where I closed my eyes and without any warning

began to picture the Andes, of all places,

and a path that led over the mountains to another country

with strange customs and eye-catching hats,

each one suddenly fringed with colorful little tassels.

Thunderstorms

Tonight, when dark storm clouds gathered over Provo, I got excited. I saw lightning in the distance, and I waited for the sound of thunder that always follows and . . . nothing.

FYI: I really like summer thunderstorms. One of my earliest memories involves dancing in a thunderstorm outside my home when I was about six. My then seven-year-old older brother was frantically trying to get me to come inside because he thought I was going to get struck by lightning, but I ignored him. I just kept playing in it.

When I was a kid, after summer thunderstorms, I liked to make paper boats and float them in the gutter. (Who am I kidding: I still like doing that.)

When I was sixteen, I wrote a poem about thunderstorms for my high school English class. I would type it up for you all, but most of us should forget and bury the poetry we wrote in high school, and it's one of those sixteen-year-old poems that one should keep to one's self.

So, yeah, I like thunderstorms. So when I saw lightning but heard no thunder, I was a little bummed.

I suppose the lightning was too far away tonight for me to hear the thunder, but still. The idea of a summer thunderstorm hitting was almost making up for the weird, odd, somewhat disappointing things that happened today. I was hoping the storm would just burst and make my day better, but it didn't. Just some promising looking wind, dark clouds, and that distant lightning without thunder.

I went inside, took care of a few things, knew I should go to bed (I have to get up at 5:30 most mornings), but couldn't resist going on a quick walk just to see if the storm was growing a little bit. I walked out at about 10pm: it was warm (good sign), almost smelled like a thunderstorm (another good sign), but skies were mostly clear (bad sign).

A minute or two in my walk, however, it happened. Big rain drops. Big loud rain drops. I looked up and saw a star-filled sky with only a few clouds. There were visible stars out, and yet rain was falling! I'm sure the wind was blowing the raindrops off course, but it looked like they were falling directly from the clear part of the sky, not the cloudy part.

It made my whole day.

Unfortunately, the rain never got going in earnest. It stopped completely after about two minutes.

Then the wind picked up, and I had an allergy attack.

But for those two minutes, things were good.

Did you know it's National Poetry Month?

As I was walking through the BYU bookstore today, I spotted a book called B is for Bad Poetry. Of course, I had to stop and take a look. I read the first few poems in the book and was impressed by the badness of this bad poetry. I wanted to buy it, but the $10 price tag was too spendy for me. Unfortunately, my searches in the BYU library catalog, the Provo City Library catalog, and the Orem City Library catalog proved that this book is not locally available for free or for loan. Alas, apparently you have you pay for your bad poetry these days.

In honor of National Poetry Month, I've included below one of the bad poems from B is for Bad Poetry that I had time to read in the bookstore. If you like it so much that you decide you need to rush out and buy the book, you know who to lend it to first.

Tea for Two (A Tragedy)
by Pamela August Russell

It wasn't until after
I poured the second cup
that I realized
I was alone.

Swimmer

a poem by Vernice Wineera

My clumsy life, lived
in the space
between accidents,
flounders before me,
I swim like a crab walks,
from one craft to another
but always they are filled
with careful people.
I will spend my days and all
my wide black nights
in deep ocean,
arms reaching for dreams,
feet seeking solid ground,
constantly treading water.