Saturday, April 2, 2022

PAD Day 2: Begone, Winter!

 Today's dual prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "second chance" poem, and (2) write a poem inspired by or using an obscure word from the Twitter account of Haggard Hawks, an apparent lover of wordplay and word origins. His page is quite the rabbit hole for a word lover like me, but I decided to go with a word that seems self-descriptive rather than totally obscure and in need of definition or explanation. The word is "afterwinter", which describes an unseasonably bad or cold winter-like spell of weather when spring is expected - sort of the opposite of "Indian Summer." I played a little with language in this poem, too, by using several more common compound words beginning with "after-". It seems to help make the argument to re-introduce "afterwinter" into everyday language.


Afterwinter
 
What are you doing here in April,
aftershock of last season,
Jack Frost on afterburners,
riding the Jet Stream back in
like an afterthought,
searing new grass with hoar,
lacquering tender blossoms with ice?
 
We don't welcome you like your opposite,
Indian Summer. In the book of seasons,
you don't get to write the afterword.
It's Spring's chapter now,
and you are just a bad aftertaste,
or like snow blindness,
an afterimage burning our eyes.
We defy you with our new wardrobes
of shorts, T-shirts, light jackets,
even as we shiver into the afternoon.
 
So be gone, rogue season!
We'll deal with your aftereffects,
and unlike you, the flowers, grass
and birds will get another chance,
basking in the afterglow of warmer days.
Take whatever you may have forgotten ―
snow squalls, polar vortex, black ice ―
and slam the door shut afterward.
 

2 comments:

Vince Gotera said...

Bruce, we both used "afterwinter" and had the same topic. I used 7 more Haggard Hawks words too. Bravo!

Bruce Niedt said...

Thanks! Maureen said a number of participants used “afterwinter” apparently because it resonated with so many of us who experienced winter-like conditions last week.