Say How Spring Soars

Marc Chagall, La Guerre

Say how spring soars pink-winged
after the storm,
and moonlight whispers dreams
of if
we could or never did,
we urged the sky, believed the lies

of roses. The forest screams
under clouds of rust,

and we must boil water
again
there are no more gardens or birds–
here the red-breasted man flies
and then is still

beneath the blue, endless as time
recalling the diamond sparkle above
is long dead, yet seen and heard,
like the fiddle’s aching notes, a reminder
of sorrow and beauty,
when spring sang in pastel notes of joy
and raised green tendrils to embrace the world.

My poem from the magnetic poetry Oracle. Yesterday we had a beautiful spring day. Now it’s raining, and we’re expecting some snow and strong wind gusts. Right now a mockingbird is singing outside my window. And the war in Ukraine continues.🌻 There are many organizations trying to get assistance to Ukraine. Please help, if you can. Here is one list. Here is a link to a book of poetry put together by Annick Yerem available for a donation.

49 thoughts on “Say How Spring Soars

  1. That Chagall could illustrate my words too. The messages are similar, but mine is much darker. I like that you and Jane separated nature from man in the hope that it will survive us. (K)

  2. The feelings evoked by news of the war in Ukraine are very like my experience after my husband’s death at age 45. During his two-hour memorial service, I was struck by the realization that I would be forever changed by his loss. I left the service with soaring elation for his life of courage and accomplishment.

    “yet seen and heard,
    like the fiddle’s aching notes, a reminder
    of sorrow and beauty.”

    I love your poem, Merril. It is perfectly illustrated by the Chagall you have chosen. ❤

    • Thank you for your lovely, thoughtful , generous comment, Cheryl.
      I’m so sorry for your loss, but how fortunate you were to have experienced that sense of elation in the midst of your sorrow.

  3. Beautiful! You paint the tender aches of the heart on the portal of spring. Such a beautiful poem in these days and hours…poetry can yet sing for us, and I believe the angels know the tune.

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