Guest poem submitted by Wendy Waring:
(Poem #1402) Sun-corner
At home there's a sun-corner where spring quietly stirs. Dripping all day long. Clear drops from the snow-rim, they reflect both good and bad in their brief fall, and are shattered. The sun is a hot cataract. In that sun-corner, where you were born - it's those drops that should mirror you, and wet your lips, pure from the snow-rim and right into your heart. It's in that faint smell of spring moisture you should fall asleep. That call you should heed. There, everything would feel right. It's all moving downhill. Everything's oozing toward a distant goal, on its way to the sea. An unknown sea inside a dream. All of spring's sorrow is heading there. All thoughts spiral there and then disappear. Your childhood sun-corner is where you are when the call sounds.
The recent posting of a Rilke poem  made me think of this fine poem of Tarjei Vesaas', a Norwegian poet, about whom more can be learned at: http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/vesaas.htm I can claim no authoritative knowledge about his work. I came across his poetry while trying to find a copy of his prize-winning novel 'The Ice Palace'. Wendy.  Poem #1384, Autumn