In March

Darkness slips,
subservient to the dawn chorus.

Cobwebs glisten
celebrating first light,
the freshness of dew. 

In the trees, birds stir,  
ushering the new day,
the thrum of wings
sound enough to send
the little earthworm deeper,
and from my window
everything is in motion;

the rippled grass,
the spider, dexterously proficient,
a convoy of ants on skirmish duty,
something gossamer winged 
and quite beautiful as it
glides through the stillness of air;
and all around me is the hum of life
a satisfaction in the order of things;

and the coffee is hot, welcoming,
a familiar aroma,
though secondary to the 
moistened scent of morning,
the heady subtlety of nature
borne on the lightest of winds.
           
                  ~~~

Soon though, the interlude is done,
first cars sound in the distance,
searching for salvation behind
a slowly rising sun; 
and magic slips to mundanity,
though a sparrow, come late to 
the feast, still chirrups imperiously
until I smile and break bread.

A last sip and the dregs swill.
Patterns in the bottom of a cup
washing away the freshness of dew,
the scent of everything;
Yet still from my window,
everything is in motion,
including the shadow of my turning. 

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"dexterously proficient"
love that phrase...
and this is a warm and welcoming hint of spring...it is 68 here today...super windy, up to 60 miles an hour.
but the buds are all thinking of emerging.
you write beautiful lines...and the last one in this poem is startling..."the shadow of my turning"---
thanks for this treat full of imagery.
j.

[Eilis]

March is quite a turbulent month by me. The incoming and outgoing seasons crash up against each other and can create nasty havoc. Though I love the first peeks of narcissus and the greening of the grass, I often dread the schizophrenic weather.

So, I enjoyed your portrait. It offers a bucolic sense of the rebirth of the earth after winter. I can feel the tentative warmth on my skin. But, as I’ve grown to enjoy about your poems, there is another side. The distraction of modern life and the necessity of adult responsibility creeping in to scatter the reverie.

Gone are the days where the mind can spend all day reveling in the growth and beauty, but so much can be garnered in those rare moments when our hearts and minds connect to the spirit of beauty all around.

Lovely ideas and images in this poem, Beccy. Makes me long for the wet grass and violets of March, and I hardly ever do that.

[Terpsichore]

A joy to read Beccy, verse to verse, a seamless and masterful progress. Haven't been at the cafe for a while, so glad you are still writing and posting. I am very much looking forward to some catching up.

T.

[emmajoy]

'.. something gossamer winged .. and quite beautiful as it glides through the stillness of air; .. all around me is the hum of life .. a satisfaction in the order of things; '

Those words especially amongst their companions create a brilliantly visual painting of absolute truth, Becky. Your eyes see even the smallest speck, your ears hear even a silent hum... you don't miss a thing and your gift for and of language know it.. and obeys. Sighing, wishing I could share and share again..
turning with you, tucked in that shadow.. hence never leaving, perhaps.

[Coyote Poetry]

A wonderful poem for the days of March. I love March too. Mean, Spring is near. Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry dear Beccy.
Coyote

[Lea Sheryn]

There are times when we need a little peace and calm in our lives. Your words take me there. Nice.

[barleygirl]

One of the best "springtime" poems I've read so far this spring, which has been slow to show up here in California. I love the way you personify the natural actors in this scene with complex attributes (shows your love of vocabulary, perfectly crafted for each moment). I also love the way you show us yourself enjoying & then getting back to life with the daily routines. It's like you've put us into this scene ourselves! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[h d e rushin]

the most elemental body of one's self awareness, made strange by this perceptual act of sitting perfectly still, is itself the naked alien that, because now objectified, can be embraced:

"and magic slips to mundanity
though a sparrow, come late to
the feast, still chirrups imperiously
until I smile and break bread"

The ringing, rhythm of this stanza is as close as you can get to the slithering existence of most of life itself. I mean, the act of waiting for the world to transform itself places nature before man/womenkind by craft instead of magic and hegemony. No human love is any greater than the sparrow's horizontal fluttering. Great poem/ a different kind of poem / but showing us your great range...dana

[Robert Trakofler]

I saw everything your wrote perfectly and i enjoyed drinking with you in your morning coffee interlude what lovely scenes you painted in those delicate motions and the dregs tho bittersweet to end made the brew so the more delicious in your mornings reveal! That last line was a quiet... crescendo! Ironically i just finished my last sip of coffee and am about to cast my own shadow of turning and I am quite happy that this was the last read of my morning ritual :)

[Relic]

I can picture as well as smell every line. That peace and tranquility are so important before life takes over. The moments you share here are serene.
Really nice writing here, Beccy. :)

[Neville]

Upon my word, you have captured here so very well indeed a moment in time that we call Spring... Perfectly poemed and true... Stay well.. N :)