Rites Of Spring (and virgin poetry)(rev)

This older poet sits astride a mound of
ringing compliments – a monument in
passive style, a massive pile of eager
words derived from easy, simple scenes

discretely varied verse to verse, pastoral
hearse of poetry in royal carriage themes
with flowers that burst in gaudy showers
of gleaming gossamer, flesh for eyes,

take sinuses by wild surprise, blur senses
openness with stunning wealth, a trance-
like feat polite of stalker’s feline stealth,
---and leave the reader short of breath.

She’s good; a legendary way with words
is still alive today, though she rarely writes
per se her thoughts are free, scattered in
the rites of spring and virgin poetry.
© 2007, I.D. Carswell