Photo of a pretty yellow flower to herald spring.
Spring has well and truly sprung where I live. The sun beams beatifically while a bellicose wind is determined to huff and puff the few remaining days of March. In the background, my husband’s chainsaw gnaws through a pile of downed tree limbs — winter’s detritus.
Today is my husband’s birthday. (Happy birthday, Bob.)
In a couple of days it will be April, which is National Poetry Month. I love poetry as much as I love spring. On spring mornings rife with sun, I often think of Wordsworth. Specifically the following:
My Heart Leaps Up
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
I learned this poem many years ago when I was still the Child. A few years ago, while thinking on Wordsworth, I jotted down a response to My Heart Leaps Up.
My heart despaired when I beheld
A codger in the dell:
So was it that my life began;
Yet here I am without a plan,
Fast closing in on next-to-dead.
Oh, bugger hell!
And I could wish my days to crawl
Before I have to chuck it all.
I must have been in a funky mood when I wrote that ditty. In my defense, the too swift passing of time has been an obsession with me since I was about eight, and the only way around it is to poke fun of myself, which is what I am doing here. (Plus, I do love the word codger.)
So, welcome to another spring; to young men’s (and women’s) fancy; to love and poetry. Welcome, welcome, welcome all!
A Wilderness of Words 
loved your poem, Mary. wish Bob a Happy Birthday for me.
Amy
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I gave Bob your birthday wishes. Thanks for leaving a comment. Glad you liked my poem.
Love you dearly! xoxo
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Lovely poems!
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Thank you, Michelle.
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“Oh bugger hell!”
That phrase would have served me well during a meeting today.
Your entire post sang to me! Since it’s almost poetry month, and you shared a couple here…does that mean we will be seeing more?
And, I’m with you on the passage of the years. I think about it all of the time, I can’t believe I haven’t written about it yet.*grabs notebook
Have a wonderful rest of the day – we have spring thunderstorms on our horizon.
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Bugger hell is my attempt to refrain from other more potent words. Plus, it’s fun and oh, so gratifying to say. Feel free to use it as many times as is needed.
Thinking of you in Ohio. Hope you’re having fun!
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I’m so happy spring has arrived where you live. And you have SUN! Fantastic. We are still waiting for both. Enjoy your wonderful weather.
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Thank you. Ironically, we’re expecting snow tomorrow. Nevertheless, I’m in a springtime frame of mind and shall remain so.
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Enjoyed your poem. You love the word codger-I love the word you used earlier in the post-bellicose 🙂
The passing of time has been an influence me too. Hence my love of old photographs, family history, and wistful lines.
Here’s to poetry!
Here’s to Bob’s birthday!
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Words are really wonderful, aren’t they. I wonder if people so inclined to words and poetry are also inclined to be highly aware of the passing of time? It would seem so. I also love old photos.
I think you will the post I am working on now — particularly the photo I’m using — of interest.
Happy April to you. And Bob says thank you.
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You may be right, never thought of that before. Chicken or the egg though: does the pain and decay of the passing years inspire a need to capture them in lyric and verse, or does poetry help us to appreciate more the passing years? Is there a difference, or have I just confused myself! 🙂
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How neat—I was just thinking of Wordsworth earlier, Mary (he’s one of my go-to poets for Spring, too; that and Eliot’s “April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land,” which I’m sure I’ve mis-punctuated). I’m more than glad to see you share my affinity for ‘Romantic’ poets, as well as poetry in general. “Heart” and “leap” words are so important to poetry and literature, it makes so many things, ahem, spring to mind (from Carson McCullers to Emily Dickinson’s “Life,” which begins with the wounded deer leaping highest, to Crane’s ‘heart’ poem, “In the Desert,” and on and on); by the way, I love your addition to the overall opus of poetry, “My heart despaired when I beheld.” Some great word choices there (as in the blog post-proper, like “spring mornings rife with sun” and the bellicose wind and a gnawing chainsaw (btw: send a belated happy birthday to your husband, Bob). I might have to borrow a couple or five of your phrasings and massage them into some things floating about in my head that need to be on paper (or screen, as the case may be). Anyway, Mary, wishing you as pleasant a time as can be had with the “still sad music of humanity”–or maybe I ought to hope that you, too, will be disturbed by the joy of nature!
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Oh, I do love Eliot as well. Especially during April. The line you cited renders large in my mind so often.
Thank you so much for your thoughtful comments! They are much appreciated and taken to heart. And thank the gods and heaven for our disturbance by the joy of nature. Life would be unbearable without it.
Cheers, Leigh!
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Thank you, Mary. Yes, and here’s to the wild-ness of words, too, as you’ve aptly titled your blog.
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Yeah, you can’t beat codger–though “bugger hell” comes close. John
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Thanks, John. Feel free to use “bugger hell” as often as needed. It provides a much need balm for the soul in just the expression.
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