{In Just-} {poetry for lent}

I made no promise that these poems would all be about death and God, ashes and repentance.  My promise was to slow down, every day, long enough to read or write poetry -- because I recognize my need to slow down, and I think poetry is one thing that will requires me to do it.

Today we walked down our road, warm sun, very feisty cold wind, until our boots were too wet and our hands were too scraped, and we turned back home.  As we walked, I thought that I could finally understand what it meant for the world to be mudlicious.

Hopefully, this poem is like an old friend to you, as it is to me:

[in Just-]

e. e. cummings

 

in Just-

spring          when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles          far          and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far          and             wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

         the

                  goat-footed

balloonMan          whistles

far

and

wee 

 

 

an explanation of {poetry for lent}