Keep Me on Spring's Radar (poem)

''I cling to beauty. My hands tremble like a seesaw as you ask for the destination.''

I

Who looks after God?

His spine must ache from the weight 

Of implied power. He traverses 

This world alone, but if all he does is make 

A memory of me, I shall hate him.

II

I cling to beauty.

My hands tremble like a seesaw

As you ask for the destination.

I tell you to study the map.

It’s known for stunning sights

That lead to somewhere…

The stars will take you to the comets

But never to the sun. What a hitch!

Peel your layers like a sliced thumb

That will never bleed.

Such a ruse, alas. The snowball

Comets will freeze you. O arctic 

Ambience, I’m lured to your beauty.

About Keep Me on Spring's Radar…

First and foremost, long time no see, my dearest subscribers, and a warm welcome to the few new subscribers I was able to acquire during my absence, which I briefly explained here. As some of you may be aware, the last few months have been extremely hectic for me, but rest assured, I am finally back and will be serving poetry, essays, and articles like daily bread. Oh, how I’ve missed you all! My uploading schedule has changed. I recommend that you click here and become acquainted with the new ways of Victorian Voices. This post IS NOT being uploaded in accordance with the revised schedule. Starting next month, I shall adhere to it. Thank you bunches!

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Keep Me on Spring's Radar was written as part of a project for poetry class at the end of last semester. Unlike my other poems, this was a breeze to write and is a new personal favorite of mine. My intention was to create a ''puzzle poem.'' A puzzle poem is precisely what it sounds like, except that, unlike an actual puzzle, no clear image is presented from the start; instead, you figure everything out as you read, creating a cryptic atmosphere…

‘‘The snowball

Comets will freeze you. O arctic

Ambience, I’m lured to your beauty.’’

Stock image

Everyone who has read this poem (my professor and classmates) has told me that the last stanza either baffled them, then made them contemplate, leading to the perfect conclusion, or that they simply don't understand it at all. Unlike an actual puzzle, the final piece, or in this case, the final stanza, may be the most difficult to grasp, but nonetheless, it fits! Here’s a (HUGE) tip for you all: If you're not already familiar, look up the definition of ''comet,’’ but don't read too much into it.

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That’s all for now, Victorians. Thank you for reading, and do share your thoughts in the comment section below. I wish everyone a wonderful February, and to my fellow black creatives, a happy Black History Month!

—February: when the sun begins to bake the crown of my house, the garden’s niveous blanket soothes my soul.

- Victorian Voices, Somiah Nettles xx