‘The First Day of Spring’ and Other Poetry by Lorna Davis The Society May 9, 2015 Beauty, Poetry 4 Comments The First Day of Spring The first day of spring started rainy and cold, But new greens were sprouting, defiant and bold, And daffodils nodded their bright heads of gold, To make the day not quite as dreary. As I, winter-weary, looked out though the glass And wondered if ever this winter would pass, A rainbow of songbirds alit on the grass And watching them, soon I grew cheery. On closer inspection, I noticed the gray Was lighter, and brighter indeed was the day, As the storm clouds were parting and drifting away, And sunlight began to break through. And then, as I watched, winter’s grip on the world Was loosened, as though its cold fingers uncurled, And outside my window the spring was unfurled In a glittering light on the dew. Taking leave of my window, I stepped to the door, And into the garden I went, seeking more Of the warmth that all winter I’d been longing for, And out in the sunlight I stood. The air was still cool, but it smelled fresh and clean, And the tips of the branches were all dipped in green. Wherever I looked, signs of spring could be seen, And on such days – oh yes – life is good! Stuck in Everyday Set me down by the shores of the sea And grant me some serenity And time to break these shackles free That choke my creativity. Oh, I can deal with the paper chase, The constant hurry, the daily race, But somewhere in this maddening pace A part of me has lost its place. It seems to me there was a time When all I had was peace of mind, When boredom was my biggest crime, But boredom now is hard to find. And people pass me every day, Scurrying frantically on their way Like mice that run from a cat at play As the time clocks tick their lives away. I’d like to tell them all to wait, To take a moment to meditate, But I don’t have time, it’s almost eight, And I’m already running late. And so with pre-recorded smiles We drive each day our daily miles To stack the hours in neat little piles And tuck the weeks and years in files. But somewhere, deep inside, it seems There’s somebody still dreaming dreams, Some little imp that plans and schemes Escape routes from these stiff regimes. Sometimes you’ll even see one there, That tiny light behind the stare, The playful spark or defiant glare That lets you know they’re still aware, Still holding on for Saturday, Still working for the sake of play, Still certain that they’ll find a way To break free from the Everyday. Know Thyself I dreamed I stood before a marble hall With veins of gold that ran through every wall, And heavy doors of bronze and ebony Beneath a polished dome of porphyry. The walls were lined with windows jeweled fair; Within, a million whispers filled the air, As if a million Wise sat in debate Of all the questions pondered by the great. I stood and wished the doors would open wide, Yet knew there was no place for me inside. I have not walked the road that hall required; The life that’s lived will trump the life inspired. The paths of learning must be duly trod Before the Traveler can expect the nod That says, “Come now, and claim your seat within.” No, that’s an honor I’ll not likely win. I fear I’m too distracted by the sight Of stars and moons. I’d rather catch the light Of setting suns, or wander through the trees, And even now I’m pulled away by these Much like the inattentive child whose gaze, Throughout the lesson, out the window strays; Whose ear might strain to listen for a bird As words of learning flutter by, unheard. To ask my heart to stay from every urge Would be to stand before a tidal surge And ask the oceans to resist the moon; My heart and mind will leash themselves as soon As waves will cease to wash up on the shore. I am myself; I can be nothing more. And yet, to know what brings the soul release May lead the heart and mind to inner peace. I dreamed I stood before that marble hall, With doors that stood unwelcoming and tall. But in my dream I understood my fate, And turning, found an ivy-covered gate That opened to a garden walled with trees Where only leaves were whispering in the breeze, Where flowers bloomed, and birdsong filled the space, And, still in sleep, a smile o’ertook my face. Lorna Davis is a poet who is happily retired and living in California. Featured Image: “Primavera” by Sandro Botticelli. Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ classicalpoets.org with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.” Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Related 4 Responses Jennifer May 11, 2015 Lorna, What beautiful images you have captured with your words. There are many talented poets here but your poems especially spoke to me as they are closer to how I think and write, and show the places my soul is familiar with. Thanks for sharing. Jennifer Morgan Reply Lorna Davis February 21, 2017 Jennifer, please forgive my late response! And thank you for your kind words. Reply Alexander Ream March 20, 2019 The lead poem in this contribution: very…sound and substantial, but also with much delight – especially the last line in each of the stanzas. Reply Alexander Ream March 20, 2019 PS – le premier jour je ne sais quoi, mais les mots ils sont frais / nouveau à la saison: it must be the day the first day I do not know what, but these words they are fresh / new to the season: it must be the day Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.