Trout Lilies

Trout lily season is almost over (I love their yellow blossoms and their green and brown mottled leaves). Spring is finally opening here. The hummingbirds are making their frequent and busy visits to the feeder. A few big bees are feeding on the dandelions. The kingfishers are patrolling the brook for trout.

A LONG WALK IN TROUT LILY SEASON

Today I felt a marriage between what is inside me
and inside streams and plants. Entangled also was
the sound of your voice, sweet and unpredictable:
"We could walk one more mile."

What are we walking toward? The trout lily
blossoms are completely folded back, slumped,
exhausted. But the windflowers have opened,
staking their ground; they blush a little with a
quiet excitement.

I close my eyes and see small flames rising
in the blossoms. On the white road turning
to sand you walk beside me.

(Copyright 2007, Allan Cooper)

Van Gogh in the Snow

After last night's wet snow (yes, snow) knocked down the daffodils, I woke today thinking about Van Gogh's flower paintings, especially his Irises. That led me to some old poems, and I found "Cornfields, Summer", written in 2001, revised this morning. I've always admired Van Gogh's work ethic, his perseverance, his gentleness. He would have walked out in the snow with his palette and brushes and painted the fallen daffodils.

CORNFIELDS, SUMMER

New light catches in the corn rows.
Hundreds of lovers are waiting to be born
in a single corncob.

The crickets talking near the cool roots
draw souls to the waiting
tassels and kernels.

Van Gogh's irises wait at the edge
of the field, calling the sun god
down from the heavens.

The sound of grief starts up
in the ripening fields. Then we hear
the wedding of separation, cloaked in lonely dew.

The cornshucks hide the harvest.
Only tough hands can find
the gold laid out in the solid rows of light.

(Copyright 2007, Allan Cooper)