The Third of July

Lake of the Isles, Minneapolis
Lake of the Isles, Minneapolis … long ago

This date — for me — will always be associated with discovering enduring love.

When it does not work out, love is painful and the source of much poetry.

But when it DOES work out, it can inspire as well.

The events in this little poem date back to 1982. I know because I have a little pocket calendar that proves it.

I’ve posted this before, but here it is again in honor of one of my favorite personal holidays.

That Day We Lay Upon the Grass

That day we lay upon the grass,
A luminescent green.
The sparks that arced from arm to arm
Across the space between.

Our bodies quickened by the sun,
The willow leaves aflush,
The sunlight sparkling on the lake,
Our blood bestirred to rush.

Up and down the parkway, flowers
Enticing with their blooms,
Our loveless winter ended there,
Emerging from our tombs

For we had slept as sleepers sleep,
Unmindful of the world,
Astonishingly we awoke,
Much like a rose unfurled.

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Published by

Bobby Ball

I love poetry. But I'm picky. No one pays me to read and write poems. It's more of a labor of love. I guess that puts me in good company. This is a project to discover why some poems strike you deep, deep down, while others leave you cold. I've got some ideas, and I'm eager to learn. I'll show you some of mine. Maybe we'll learn something new.

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