Poetry is an ancient form dating back centuries in the ancient world of China and Persia, and elsewhere. It has had many uses besides those of familiar modern literature. It has been, and still is, written, spoken, sung or chanted, and held in high regard throughout Asia and the Near East. Can we say the entire world? For all the poetry societies and organizations, poety’s long life and all that it is, poetry seems to be less popular than other subjects, such as history or fiction.
A Spring poem by J.R. Solonche
SOON IT WILL BE SPRING
Soon it will be spring.
Do you know how strong spring is?
Do you know how strong it is to do what it does?
Of course you know.
You have seen spring before.
You have watched spring at work many times.
How it has to have the strength of a thousand winters
to wrestle winter to the ground,
then strangle winter with its bare hands,
then smother winter with whatever it finds at hand,
with snowdrops and crocus, to be certain,
then dig winter’s grave deep in the ground,
so deep in the ground that winter will not stir again
until next winter.
And it has only its bare hands, mind you, with which to do this.
Tell me, have you ever dug a hole with your bare hands?
I don’t mean a hole for a tulip.
I mean a hole big enough to bury winter in?
This is how strong spring has to be.
And spring does this all alone.
It gets no help, not from us.
No, not from us who merely stand around, cheering.
J.R. Solonche (110 Poems, forthcoming in the near future)