Today's poem is by B.T. Shaw

Spring Comes to the Mistress of the Obvious

Iridescence replaces winter's aerodynamics—
tripped, hooked, a fantastic arrow
rammed in the marrow. Dawn lands
like an uppercut—nothing like you.

I've forgotten last March. And May
promises to blur as soon as I clear
moth-eaten silks from the drawer.
How wonderful it is this time of year

to not be in love. Outside, the ducks
resume a violet shouting, malachite
drakes hitting dun-colored targets,

the cads inflaming the pond, disturbing
(not me, not me) brackish water,
air-encumbered light.

Copyright © 2007 B.T. Shaw All rights reserved
from The Seattle Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!

Home    Archives   Web Monthly Features    About Verse Daily   FAQs  Submit to Verse Daily   Publications Noted & Received  

Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved