Nice Days in April by Amy Cotter

As the sun rises over Corvallis,

the people emerge from their long slumber.

Rubbing their eyes in disbelief, they stare;

a pale blue sky, no clouds, not even one.

They sprint back inside as quick as can be,

to prepare for the day that April brought.

It is said that crazy things happen now,

with the first days of nice weather around.

For at the moment we’re nice and kept;

give it a day, and chaos will commence.

Walking through the MU quad you can see,

students sprawled out on the lawn, filled with glee.

Tank tops and Ray Bands, jeans cut at the knee;

a summer wardrobe at sixty degrees.

Frisbees flying in different directions,

sun tanning to change ones pale complexion.

The sun and its effects in full motion;

spring fever spread throughout by infection.

Long boards replace bikes to get to campus,

but who said that means you attend classes?

Professor said you can have two absents,

so students use them to their advantage.

Classes half full now at their very best,

making professors hand out surprise tests.

For they do not care about the fun quests;

if anything, they are more of a pest.

The crazy actions of those on the run;

students swinging from trees, out in the sun,

forget responsibilities for once.

Nice days in April bring out the wild ones.

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Poem of the Day: April Inventory

BY W. D. SNODGRASS

The green catalpa tree has turned

All white; the cherry blooms once more.   

In one whole year I haven’t learned   

A blessed thing they pay you for.   

The blossoms snow down in my hair;   

The trees and I will soon be bare.

The trees have more than I to spare.   

The sleek, expensive girls I teach,   

Younger and pinker every year,   

Bloom gradually out of reach.

The pear tree lets its petals drop   

Like dandruff on a tabletop.

The girls have grown so young by now   

I have to nudge myself to stare.

This year they smile and mind me how   

My teeth are falling with my hair.   

In thirty years I may not get

Younger, shrewder, or out of debt.

The tenth time, just a year ago,   

I made myself a little list

Of all the things I’d ought to know,   

Then told my parents, analyst,   

And everyone who’s trusted me   

I’d be substantial, presently.

I haven’t read one book about

A book or memorized one plot.   

Or found a mind I did not doubt.

I learned one date. And then forgot.   

And one by one the solid scholars   

Get the degrees, the jobs, the dollars.

And smile above their starchy collars.

I taught my classes Whitehead’s notions;   

One lovely girl, a song of Mahler’s.   

Lacking a source-book or promotions,   

I showed one child the colors of   

A luna moth and how to love.

I taught myself to name my name,

To bark back, loosen love and crying;   

To ease my woman so she came,   

To ease an old man who was dying.   

I have not learned how often I

Can win, can love, but choose to die.

I have not learned there is a lie

Love shall be blonder, slimmer, younger;   

That my equivocating eye

Loves only by my body’s hunger;

That I have forces, true to feel,

Or that the lovely world is real.

While scholars speak authority

And wear their ulcers on their sleeves,   

My eyes in spectacles shall see

These trees procure and spend their leaves.   

There is a value underneath

The gold and silver in my teeth.

Though trees turn bare and girls turn wives,   

We shall afford our costly seasons;

There is a gentleness survives

That will outspeak and has its reasons.   

There is a loveliness exists,

Preserves us, not for specialists.