This poem, by Jay Ramsay, was recently published on Philip Carr-Gomm’s weblog. I like it very much.
THE BLOSSOMING for Martin
You know the story. After months of grey
rain, wind and weather wet
the cherry blossom suddenly appears
with the merest touch of late April sun,
its three or four day lover. Blossom
filling the branches, and up against the blue
as you gaze up…its delicate pale pink chandeliers
each hanging by a thread, intact.
But then three days of blasting wind
billowing up the path, around the house
battering it, beating at it, torn
down in bucketfuls, coating the front bed
and the lawn inches deep—
with the waste of it only just blossomed.
Why do you care? Because it’s moved you
because every beautiful thing you’ve seen
has entered your heart, aware or unaware
becoming part of you extending out
you can’t escape now, it’s too late
your heart is open and it can’t close again.
You care because it’s all you are
this beautiful ravaged world now
resurrected then crucified…and as the wind dies
with all we still have, as it returns.
I call it poetry, with or without words
the one language we know without speaking
that seeks us out from the Beginning
because it knows we must blossom
there is no other hope, no other way
to become human, but to love, and lose
turned inside out and outside in—
and this, my God and yours, is the operation.