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Poetry Friday: “Mud”

Apparently when almost three feet of snow melts within two weeks, you get a lot of mud. And you get that mud for an extended period of time that seems approximately forever. Not being used to this much mud, it’s been top of my mind — and bottom of my shoes — whenever I go outside. Mud. Mud. Mud.

For Poetry Friday, I found a poem that gives mud a positive spin — one that I will try very hard to keep in mind as I squish and squelch my way to school pick-up.
by Robert William Service

Mud is Beauty in the making,
Mud is melody awaking;
Laughter, leafy whisperings,
Butterflies with rainbow wings;
Baby babble, lover’s sighs,
Bobolink in lucent skies;
Ardours of heroic blood
All stem back to Matrix Mud.

(The poem continues here.)
Poetry Friday is hosted today at TeachingBooks


Liz in Ink said...

When I lived in Colorado we actually called Spring "Mud Season". A rose is a rose is a rose, y'know?

Anonymous said...

I'm now singing an old song:

"Mud, mud, glorious mud.
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood.
So follow me, follow,
down to the hollow,
and there let us wallow in glorious mud."

I believe it's about a hippo, and was done by the Serendipity Singers in the 60s. Yeah. I know. I'm old.

Jeannine Atkins said...

Oh, yes, here in Massachusetts we call it mud season, too. And like many, we also have a mud room, which I guess some might call a foyer or some such.

Thanks for trying the positive spin, which takes some effort in March. Still, nice poem!

Mary Lee said...

Still waiting for the melt (and the mud) here in Ohio...

all things poetry said...

Thanks for sharing your poem about mud. It couldn't be more clear.

Laura Evans

laurasalas said...

Ugh. We have very muddy springs here in Minnesota. Like our house isn't dirty enough without that! The snow is melting in the backyard, and the mud puddles (lakes) are forming.

Ah well.

Loved these lines:

In the raw, red womb of Time
Man evolved from cosmic slime;