Early Mud

[rolanni]

Yesterday, March 8, it hit 60F/16C at the Cat Farm.  Snow melted, mud appeared.  It was, in short, a mess.

Come evening, came the winds, and on the overnight, rain.  It’s a bright and sunny 40F/4C as I type, and the landscape is a wasteland of puddles, hardened heaps of slag-colored snow, low-lying mud wallows, and dust-devils doing square dances up and down the road.

So!  To celebrate the coming of, erm, not-winter, today’s guest poet is e.e. cummings.

 

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it’s

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it’s

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee

                –e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

Originally published at Sharon Lee, Writer. You can comment here or there.

Comments

[kalilama.livejournal.com]

Thank you for that, a favorite from my youth.

[stormsdotter.livejournal.com]

That was my favorite English teacher's favorite poem.

...she mentioned it when we read it in class, and I was the only one who paid enough attention to get the question right on the test.

[queenmaggie.livejournal.com]

That reminds me a lot of Charles deLint's short story about the balloon people....

[jcbemis.livejournal.com]

love that poem

Mud season poetry

[bookmobiler.livejournal.com]

Don't you just hate the way social media site muck up the formatting of text of any kind.
e e cummings was a poet words,the sound of words, their meaning and how they looked on the page.
Check this link http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176657 for the effect he intended to create.
BTW checking for that poem let me discover the Poetry Foundation web site. Which is a very pleasant unintended consequence.

[amm-me.livejournal.com]

It's spring here, the wild plums are blooming. It's even raining a little. But there's not near enough for puddle-wonderful. Teh persistent drought ... persists.

Here's another poem for the season, Wild Plum by Orrick Johns. http://naturalist-amm.blogspot.com/2009/03/wild-plum.html

ee cummings

[catherine ives (from livejournal.com)]

Great pome!