Wednesday, 17 May 2017 13:00

April Poems 2017

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It was cold again overnight so I

Wore a warm shirt and put my phone in

A pocket for convenience and I was

Crabby because I had to scrape the ice


Off my windshield my nose was running and

I felt a cold coming on and moving

Was difficult and then my phone started

Ringing and I grumbled — who’s calling me


Now and I’m not unzipping my coat to

Get to the phone — and then I realized

Because my ringtone is the singing of

A robin — I was wrong — it wasn’t the


Phone but a robin I was hearing on

A chilly morning on the verge of spring.


And with a woozy

head a sloppy nose and moving

with difficulty

I felt a little foolish

and a little happier.



I don’t consider there’s more computing

Power in the phone I carry in a

Pocket than in the Apollo rockets

That took astronauts to the moon — when I


Routinely talk to people across the

Country while walking along the street or

Get directions by using satellites

Or download wisdom accumulated


Through centuries by connecting with the

Internet — all by using a phone — I

Don’t give technology a second thought

And even become frustrated with a


Slow connection as I’ve grown accustomed

To the magic people have provided.


And it’s easy to

forget separate from

the wind in the leaves

and beyond the sky

another star’s exploding.




Even if I’m driving down the same streets

Everyday there’s a chance I’ll discover

Something I’ve never seen before if I

Pay attention to the flowing world as


I believe there’s always more than I can

Absorb in the moment as my habits

And preoccupations get in the way

And today I saw the willow trees at


The chilly beginning of spring and the

Profusion of drooping limbs were hanging

Limply looking like yellow strings with leaves

Emerging and my imagination


Jumped with the sight of willow leaves flowing

In the resurgence of summer breezes.


I’ve seen the willows

for almost sixty years —

nothing resembles

the flowing world better than

willow leaves in summer wind.




Roses in poetry have become trite

As everyone has written of the folds

Within folds within folds and contrasted

Petals with thorns as if the beauty and


The sharpness had a point but during most

Of the year the rose bush consists of stems

And little leaves and yes the bloom in spring

Is lovely emerging in a shower


Of sunlight within a season bursting

With growth and for some reason poets do

Keep writing about roses — more so than

Chrysanthemums — as if a rose were a



Sight to behold like the sun and the moon

And in beholding a rose I am caught.


So there is something

about the bloom of a rose

like the sun and moon

captivating enchanting

eyes capable of seeing.



I won’t say it’s age as I remember

It happening in my thirties and I

Rely on my memory but sometimes

I would enter a room and realize


I’d forgotten why I came — and I think

It’s the result of an active mind that’s

Processing too much information and

There’s calculation going on and as


My mind is juggling several things at once

Such as the immigration policy

Of the United States and my desire

For toothpaste — naturally my mind would


Drop the ball concerning the paste and that’s

OK because my capacity for


It was inspiring

scintillating even and

I was on the verge

of a pronouncement but then

the brilliant point escaped me.



Favorite Word

Don’t you love . . . really just love-love-love the

tactile words . . . those you need to repeat

because they make your tongue and palate tickle,

make you lips quiver, your whole mouth grow

huge as a wind tunnel while they bounce around and resound . . .

words like marshmallow or bamboozle . . . words

to make your ears twitch and your feet flutter up and

off this stick-mud world, words to let you hum

and hover-hover-hover awhile?

Today my favorite word is

epididymis: an epic word, manly word to stash

under one’s breath or utter while your eyes blur and

turn to heaven . . . to enjoy for its drummy-yummy

rhythm. It’s not a party-talk word, not available for How’s your

epididymis today? So I sing it alone in my kitchen,

whisper it while thumping for ripe melons, say it

fast — epididymis-epididymis-epididymis

as I jump up, jump down, jump out on this limb.

— Bev Bonn Jonnes

Read 4256 times Last modified on Sunday, 07 January 2018 20:56
Barry MacDonald

Editor & Publisher of the St. Croix Review.
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