Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Poet Tree

April 7, 2020

I sat on the deck and looked out at a yard that yesterday was completely white.  I thought I heard rain in the middle of the night, but I had no idea that I'd wake up to see winter washed away.

I remember some poem about spring that mentioned a little goat-footed balloonman.  We took it in Grade 9.  I couldn't understand its meaning, but I got the feel of it.  I think that's why I like poetry.  It's word-juggling and precision-placing of words and syllables until things just fit into the only place they can. A palette of words on a page is kind of like colours in a painting.  

I'm feeling like I'd like to try and paint on a canvas. It would be a huge step to move from my safe sketchbook, but I'm hearing a call. It's not like I'm doing anything these days. Maybe I'll write a poem.  In the meantime, here's a Poet Tree.

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