March Fourth

It seems fitting today that I post a poem I wrote years ago and modified many times but have finally let rest. The seed of it was planted when I worked outside in the nursery. March, most often, was a weather roller coaster ride with unpredictable turns and dips. My sister, who owned the business, and I would sing, "March came in like a lion..." almost every spring because even though March first may have been calm, it didn't mean March second or third would be the same. Then, Tommy came to work at the nursery, and he would, every March fourth, say, "It's army day!"

As I see the tragic scenes on television of shattered lives and mass destruction by havoc wrecked from tornadoes, and I listen to the wind buffeting outside at this very moment, I pray for the lives of those so tragically hit this March Fourth. Psalms has always been a comfort to me through sorrows. If you read this blog today and feel inclined, please say a prayer for those who have suffered from the storms after you read this verse.

Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from distress; he sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction. 

Psalms 107:19-20

 

March Fourth
March fourth is the command.
This time gray pushes down from the North
and blue rises up from the South-
tearing across a tear stained sky.
Moaning and howling,
twisting and turning,
Oak leaves rush across stretches of pavement.
The remains pile higher.
 

March fourth is the command.
The Gray presses in fierce fury
firing with all its forces-
blinding the Southern shores.
Dust and sea oats,
dry earth and flood,
Sand dunes rise blocking stretches of sea,
Sunday afternoon pleasures erode.
 

March fourth is the command.
Blue burst across the Southern sky,
(and astounds watchers standing by)
brushing away the furious gray.
Spinning and shaping,
shoving and shouting,
Green pushes through brown earth. 

The blue shines.
 

 As battles subside, the South finds its ease,
tossing flower caps gently in breeze-
while the gray creeps away to far, northern land,
awaiting its next foreordained command.

                                       Linda Oliverio
 

Peace. Love, Linda