Corruptive

The dark wood after the dark wood: the cold 
after cold in April's false November.
In that second worser place: more gone, less there,
but in that lurid present present, cast and held, 

rooted, kept, like some old false-berried yew. 
Just against; the door leading to preferment 
shut; no longer believing in still, by some, few
means, method, could be, but for the bad day set, 

left, leaning atop bad day. 
							Out- and un-

ranked, toothached, wronged— rankled corruptive thing!
Ill-wishing, in-iquitous, clipped, up-hoped, stripped: just plain: thin.
Dare thy commit: commit this final fatal sin: 
God my God, I am displeased by spring.
Credit

Copyright © 2014 by Olena Kalytiak Davis. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on April 9, 2014. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

About this Poem

“Seems the wrack of not living up to/meeting spring (much less National Poetry Month) is a recurrent theme for me. This is last April’s version/stunted bud. I think of it as a little Hopkinsesque, but it was in fact inspired/shaped by Donne’s discontent, that of the spring of 1608(!), (after the king dashed his hopes of getting a state job). Perhaps the part of the tradition I feel closest to...”

—Olena Kalytiak Davis