Mary Oliver in “A Poetry Handbook” says that “you would learn very little in the world if you were not allowed to imitate.” That line gave me permission to consciously follow Mary’s style of poetry, not just as an exercise but as an opportunity to capture the arrival of spring with a soulful connection to the awakening earth. Thank-you Mary, in this month of celebrating poetry, for offering such sensitive works which pierce through the everyday indifference to the land that supports and nurtures us.
Awakened to the wild geese broadcasting their arrival.
First a distant wave rolling in,
flight calls echoed
in short blasts, flapping wings,
honks cavorting, building
to a nonsensical rhapsody
squelching all other sounds as they pass
pulling me from the dark curvature of sleep.
My imagination stretching up to the still darkened sky,
seeing their V shaped arrowhead staying true to its path
with deep knowing, lifetimes old
of when to begin this arduous journey
where towering mountain peak, nor watery expanse
And in this early hour,
skin shivering in naked wonderment
I recall the porous line
marking the thread between the visible and invisible
as a remembered chorus,
reawakening my wild bird song
claiming a space with no uncertainty,
reckless in my yearning
move over, make room for me.