Naked Branches

It’s spring. Things are blooming. I’m sneezing.

There are still a lot of naked trees.

I was put in mind this past week of a poem I wrote in college.

By the way, this is a “po-um”. Not a “pome” nor a “po-eem”. I’m Just sayin’.

Anyway, here’s the poem.

“ANTICIPATION”

Soft-falling leaves outside my window,

while I sit and think of nothing,

suggest an autumn breeze—

the cycle of seasons closing,

preparing for a new death.

I expect dark days,

the gloomy outlook of another beginning,

But the sun shines a little too bright,

the trees show a little too green.

Spring growth, it seems,

pushes away

the old discolored remnants

that held on through a mild winter—

no howling blasts to strip them away.

I prefer the blasts,

violently shaking off all that’s used up,

than a gentle spring breeze

and the persistent pressure

of new growth waiting to show through.

Yes, I think I prefer the blasts.

(March 1992)