"Ruins in the Campagna di Roma, Morning" by Thomas ColeThree Poems on Spring, by Martin Rizley The Society April 18, 2020 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 9 Comments The March of Spring O, hear the bold approach of spring, who marches, stamping, blowing! He startles all the birds that sing above the fast streams flowing. They take to wing and soar on high Where white clouds race across the sky. What garish, yes, outlandish dress the spring dons as he marches! His multi-colored robes fluoresce amidst the trembling larches. He turns this way and that all day And sweeps all trace of gloom away. The ice drips from the eaves, and in the woods, the tiny nestling Cries out for food, while melting floods, like playful brothers wrestling, Now tumble down the mountain where Their raucous laughter fills the air. Oh see how roguish spring upends the forest fleece at noonday He spooks the barnyard hens and sends them flying with the loose hay. I laugh with spring, and realize then, My thawed out heart is green again! Outward Bound I´m heading out for pastures green against the brisk March wind In search of some blue pool serene to sink my spirit in. The clouds are gray, the wind is cold, the trembling grass is pale; But I go forth with spirit bold and frame both strong and hale. The sun smiles from his throne on high but keeps his distance there; His bright beams fill the azure sky, but do not warm the air. Inside I´m warmed by burning zeal; smoke rises from my soul. How cozy and secure I feel wrapped in this cloak of wool! The undulating landscape cheers my heart and gives me joy. The chill wind blows away my years and turns me to a boy. On winding paths, past wood and stile, I look to find that place, Some lonely pond, to rest a while from life´s frenetic race. Far from the din of noisy crowds, the orator´s harangue, I watch the silent, moving clouds and hear the cowbell´s clang, The breeze’s bleak, incessant sweep, the coo of doves nearby, The distant bleat of grazing sheep, the song of larks on high. How sweet it is to come apart and while the time away, To savor God´s own works of art upon a chilly day. Therefore, as long as day shall last, I´ll sit and linger here And make a pool my soul´s repast, beside this quiet mere. Wanderlust O wild and windy day, Blow me where you may! I long for the wayfaring life again, To run with the winds away! O wild and windy day, In this ravishing month of May, Your winds may blow me up to the hills Or down to the sparkling bay! I long to scramble o’er the rocks By a raging and windswept sea, To fly o’er the moors to the distant shores, To wander, alone and free. I ache to feel the wind at my back And the sunshine on my face, To leave all behind and go forth to find New vistas to embrace. I yearn to mount the heights of the earth And to climb into the sky, From there to descend in valleys to wend My way—just the wind and I! O wild and windy day, I am eager to end my stay; I’m ready to go where’er you blow— So blow me far away! Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter. Martin has enjoyed writing and reading poetry as a hobby since his early youth. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to email@example.com. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 9 Responses Sally Cook April 18, 2020 An emotional transit through a change in the seasons. I like best your personification of Spring. Reply Julian D. Woodruff April 18, 2020 These ring a bell with anyone longing for the outdoors–just about all of us now, including those too young to read. Reply Martin Rizley April 18, 2020 Thank you, Sally, for your feedback. All three poems are actually “reworkings” of poems I wrote in my teen years (the first two originally written in free verse) when I was just beginning to express in poetry my sense of delight in the natural world around me. These revisions preserve the “emotion” of the original poems, while versifying them and expanding them in length. Reply Martin Rizley April 18, 2020 Thanks, Julian. I submitted these poems for publication before knowing we would all be in quarantine! It later crossed my mind that a lot of people might be able to resonate with the feelings they express at this time– especially the line “I am eager to end my stay” in the third poem! Reply C.B. Anderson April 18, 2020 Forget about the Wuhan flu, man. You’ve come down with a severe case of spring fever. Unlike many of those near and around me, I’ve been working these past couple of weeks, mostly doing necessary spring pruning. It’s not exactly nature, but it’s outdoors. So far, I have not put a mask over my face. I’m afraid that if I go into a store with one on, they’ll think I want to rob them. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant April 18, 2020 All of these poems are outstanding. “The March of Spring” is my favorite by far. I absolutely adore the fresh eye you afford to this season while giving an admirable nod to the classics. Bravo, Mr. Rizley, bravo!! Reply Martin Rizley April 18, 2020 Thank you so much, Susan, for your words of encouragement! Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant April 18, 2020 You are most welcome. Your words are truly beautiful. Margaret Coats April 18, 2020 I like the windy “Wanderlust” best. Each repeated line pushes the poem forward like a fresh puff of wind. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour 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.