life as poetry

I miss doing a lot of things, and I realized that I haven’t read and written poetry in a long time. When I was in school (a good long time ago), I used to be able to pen down my thoughts in different poetic forms- even if I didn’t consciously go out and do measure, metric, etc. etc. (I hate being boxed in technical constraints). I’d write on edges of my books, tissue paper in cafes, old notebooks, old menu cards.

So I’m going back to one of my first loves and will be featuring here some of my favorite lines and some of my own too, if I can ;-)

Spring

Song, from Act V, Scene 2 of Love’s Labors Lost by William Shakespeare (1598)

When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
“Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
“Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear.