POEMS

The Coward

A cat bird high up on a blonde, splintered, spindle of pine,

whines, mews, otherwise opines on the wind’s unwanted spectre,

how the wind howled for a only a few minutes and then fled,

how it tore at the crowns of trees

and tossed them in heaps in some other yard,

how it left limbs and tangled wires,

telephone poles hanging like Cirque du Soleil acrobats

in an act from Les Arbres,

The squirrels are losing their wits,

while the neighbors wander stunned,

umbrellas raised in one hand, wine glasses in the other.

-       Amy Young

9/2/10

 

This Poem Is Being Written After the Storm

This poem is being written in blue ink on yellow paper

to the roar of generators and chainsaws.

This poem is chugging down sunshine in dry daylight

beneath washed blue skies.

This poem remembers last night’s startled neighbors

wandering the streets in the rain with wine glasses.

This poem remembers the windows wanting to burst,

the trees attempting to cling to their limbs.

This poem sees orange traffic cones standing like sentries

and goldfinches like stars against the fading green.

This poem is blinking at the brightness of a new day,

as dazed as the morning doves on the fence.

This poem remembers the confused symphony of raindrops,

the disturbed words of the wind.

This poem is surprised at the flow of ink,

the scribbled consonants  arcing like lightning.

                                    - Amy Young

Summer

Let there be watermelon,

Watermelon smiles all around.

And let there be drumsticks,

Large drumsticks in small fists.

Let there be drumsticks all around.

Let there be pea pods and pies,

Eyes bigger than stomachs all around.

Pea pods and pies and fireflies,

Fireflies flickering up from the ground.

Watermelon, drumsticks, pea pods and pies,

        Laughter and fireflies all around.

        Laughter and fireflies all around.

                           - Amy Young

Praise Song for Alexandria

   City of Songs, let us sing our songs to you.

Let Four Mile Run flow into the river past your fingertips

   in the first moments of dawn.

Let the Potomac rise and roust you from your bed

   with its rollicking song,

Let it lap your shore and nudge you like a loyal dog’s nose.

Let us sing to you as the swallows dip and the stiff breeze blows.

Let us sing!

Let the birds in your pocket parks warble and trill.

Let Cameron Run chant to you as it trickles and spills

   over concrete dams.

Let the children lining up at bus stops stamp their feet

   and clap their hands.

Let your taxi drivers honk their horns from taxi stands.

Let your church bells ring.

Let us sing!

Let us sing to you as the day rolls on.

Let us sing and dance our rhymes and travails.

Let this city’s poets write you their metered tales.

Let us sing over coffee, over cardboard and nails.

Let us sing in Sunday hats and kilts,

Let us sing in T-shirts, on cobblestones and stilts.

Let us sing!

Let the skateboarders sashay with their grabs and lifts,

   their long lithe limbs at play.

Let the coxswains roar.

Let the eights and fours

   pull and glide and plant their oars.

Let them thrum past your whittled shores.

Let us sing!

Let Ms. Haskins hail you on her daily stroll,

Let the Titans march to the thunder’s roll.

Let Mayor Euille’s voice roll towards you, low and proud

Let Del Pepper lead the crowd.

Let Afnan’s words canter like proud horses in the air.

Let Wavely ‘China’ Brown hand you his verses of joy and despair.

Let our words come to you in praise and prayer.

Let us sing!

Let us sing to you in the way we know how.

Let us sing you lullabies of lights strung like stars on King,

   of pale green willows along the parkway in spring.

Let us sing to you from apartment towers shining like lighthouses

   on blackened nights.

Let the ospreys sing from their soaring heights!

Let us sing on skates from the concrete surface of Raue Pond.

Let us sing on bicycles from the Wilson Bridge,

   to the Eisenhower Valley and beyond.

Let the river pick up where the sidewalk ends.

Let it float your boats.

Let the contrails of jets be lines for our notes.

Let us sing to you from bungalows and bars,

   from the Masonic Temple and from Metro cars.

Let us sing from dog parks and nature trails.

Let the trains hum and wail along the rails.

Let Liberty sing you her tales from across the river,

   from the top of her dome while we sing you ours

   from this shore we call home.

Let us sing!

Let us sing!

Let us sing!

                                   

- Amy Young

  ‘City of Songs’ is a reference to the poem of that name by former Alexandria City poet laureate, Mary McElveen.

  Ms. Haskins is an educator at Cora Kelly school often seen walking in the neighborhood.

Afnan refers to Afnan Ali, the current ACPS poet laureate.

Wavely ‘China’ Brown is a citizen who refers to himself as the ‘rhyming writer’.

 




Sundancers

In the council chamber a garden grew.

Strawberries, lettuce, cabbage and tomatoes

sprouting right up through the chamber floor!

Nine girls tilled the carpeted ground,

used their arms as spades and trowels,

sprinkled seeds, poured on rain,

and danced and sang

like nine suns beaming down!

-      Amy Young

 May 2010

Pick a Poem from Your Pocket

Park a poem in your pocket

Take a poem to the park.

Pick a poem from your pocket.

Pluck it from the dark.

Pick a poem from your pocket.

Unpack it at the park.

Read the words from off the page.

Unlock it from your heart.

Pick a poem from your pocket.

Read it to the trees.

Pick a poem from your pocket.

Leave the words upon the breeze.

 - Amy Young