Poem for April, Upstate New York
Poem for April, Upstate New York
With sore knee and stick staff,
I upwill the hill, hoping to see
new calves,
slowly, yet inside-hurrying, as if a crud
could dull their blind-white masks
before a cud can even be chewed (not true)–
still I step-stumble, excited and trying for fast,
through mounds of clodded grass-ground,
till at last I’ve found–
ah.
The mom sees me and immediately starts
her sure scuttle
while the little one, brown-blinking through cut-outs
in moon (new moo-n)
wobbles wonderingly after—
and I stop, wanting to follow, but not
to push them on–
Why do we write of such things,
and call them poems?
Better: why write
of anything other?
*******************************
Draft draft poem for Bjorn Rudberg’s post on real toads to write a poem using “kennings” –compound and kind-of made-up words. My not very good pic of new calf and mother. All rights reserved.
So far, a little ahead of the April game of a poem a day, I think, but heading into some busy days. Sorry if slow returning comments.
Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, UncategorizedTags: April 2016 National Poetry Month, calf poem, http://withrealtoad.blogspot.com, manicddaily, moon-faced calf poem, upwill the hill
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ManicDDaily 
April 24, 2016 at 3:16 pm
Oh I do like it.. the new calves of spring has to be such a joy to see… Love them and I can understand the feeling of being able to run after them… (it does raise a child inside of me)
April 24, 2016 at 3:27 pm
YES. Indeed. Why write of anything other? (My eyes want a hyphen in “why-write” so that it becomes a verb.) 😉
LOVE these, especially:
upwill
and brown-blinking (this is SO visual, fantastic.)
April 24, 2016 at 5:32 pm
Thanks so much, DE. k.
April 24, 2016 at 5:54 pm
I agree 😀 this is absolutely splendid.. love ” mounds of clodded grass-ground…” Beautifully rendered.
Lots of love,
Sanaa
April 24, 2016 at 6:37 pm
You have such playfulness in what you write. I see the many of the same sights in my neck of the woods, but I don’t seem to put them to the good use you do. Nice job with this, both in the quality of the observations, and in melding them into the parameters of the prompt.
And thanks so much for your kind comments earlier…I have no understanding of how following/notification is done in the competing blog worlds. I do get email notifications of yours, but as to how others follow, I have no idea.
I’ll be in your great city soon for a few days. Perhaps I’ll get some new inspiration. I’ve been negligent of late.
Steve K.
April 24, 2016 at 9:02 pm
Ha. Thanks so much, Steve. I really have been extremely tired and stressed lately, but the good part is that I think that type of thing sometimes breaks down internal barriers and lets one come up with silly ideas–or frees them a little.
I spend about three days a week in NYC these days so doesn’t feel as much like my City as it once did. Actually–I’m going to write a suggestion on your blog, as you may not revisit–and there’s one terrific thing going on right now. (the Met Breuer.) Thanks. k.
April 24, 2016 at 6:46 pm
Just the kind of things poem ought to be about. A lovely picture you’ve painted and one that makes me remember my childhood.
April 24, 2016 at 8:53 pm
You have delightfully captured the cute wobbles of a spring calf. Such an intimate, beautiful view of country life.
April 24, 2016 at 11:14 pm
I miss my country roots where every spring I would visit new born calves. This is such a welcome trip down memory lane with delightful word combinations.
April 24, 2016 at 11:19 pm
I think you did well, including the compound-verbs.
April 25, 2016 at 9:53 am
What a glorious sight! This is the stuff of life and certainly fodder for poetry.
April 25, 2016 at 1:14 pm
I adore the “new moo-n”, and the question with which you close…….
April 25, 2016 at 6:17 pm
I want to see the new calf too! It’s a fine picture and poem.
April 26, 2016 at 7:48 am
Very jumpy and full of the sense of climbing both towards something as a goal, and upwards into the unknowable.You are writing so well, Karin!
April 26, 2016 at 9:45 am
Thanks. Am sputtering out I’m afraid at the moment. K.