"Thank you both for your thoughtful comments on my poem. That was


a "difficult" year, obviously; but not without some redemption. Of


course there was the spring; "April is the cruellest month, breeding


liclacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring


dull roots with spring rain." That was the year the town of Andover,


Ma. was celebrating its 350th anniversary. Local poets were asked to


read a poem of theirs which had been pre-selected by the Celebration


Committee. There must have been well over 100 poets crammed into the


old Town Hall, along with family and friends. Now I had written a


long narrative about living in Andover for sixteen years, hoping to


be able to read that. We were told by the moderator that because of


the number of poets reading to read just the poem the committee had


selected. Fortunately for me I was third poet on the list, and what


I noticed was that the other poets, being the "hams" we are,


were "sneaking in" another poem. So, when it was my turn, I


read "Redemption," then quickly pulled out,"Sixteen Years in


Andover." When I finished, I heard applause,and looked up to find I


was getting a standing ovation! Boy did I blush! Later that week I


was asked by the Celebration Chairperson if I would read my poem at


the closing of the celebration. Of course I accepted, and on a cold,


windy afternoon in December, I stood in front of the Old Town Hall,


and read my poem to a handful of brave citizens, including both my


son and daughter who recorded the event on video. The poem now


resides in a time-capsule in the basement of the Old Town Hall,


along with other selected artifacts. It was, and is quite an honor,


and I am proud to relate this story whenever I have the opportunity.


We poets NEVER make a lot of money for all the work we put in, but


sometimes, if we just keep doing it, good things happen. Money could


not earn my place in history, but one of my poems did, so keep


writing, dear poets, keep writing! Thanks again for taking the time


to read my poem and this "anecdote."-Dale


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Redemption





Cold February dawn, crows caw the half-moon into oblivion


Across a Maxfield Parrish sky.


Last week ‘s groundhog forecast offered us no reprieve.


Just two day’s worth of good heat lies stacked across the drive.


A harbinger wind rattles the backyard trees, hurries our dog


To complete her morning routine.


The bare ground cracks beneath us as we hasten our return.


Scraping its squirrel-gnawed limbs against the weathered Wapole,


The old lilac stands at the corner of the house,


Ignorant of foreclosure and unemployment.


It provides neither shelter nor solace,


Knows not the names of window-framed faces


Who in seasons past shared better times,


Waits only for wet April to push the pain of Whitman’s song


To heart-shaped leaves, its pale and perfumed flowers


Stained and scented with our hopes of spring.

Thanks for posting this Dale.

We all can use a dose of the positive that your story provides!

~ M. D.