Where do the days go?
Is there a big bin
filling up with all of my spent days?
Can I dig through them
and pull out one or another
special one
to review, relive?
Can I pull out one
that wasn’t much used,
like a piece of paper,
and write on it
again?
So as not to be
wasteful.
Or do all the days
just drop away
falling out of
time?
I am a fool
for the rain
for grey, cloudy skies
and wind blowing.
Give me a book and a chair
and a cup of something warm
and a cat or a dog to sit with me,
and I can’t think of a more pleasant way
to spend an afternoon.
Give me a rainy day.
Give me a storm.
Give me a book.
That’s all I ask.
April bows out
leaving so prettily
though yesterday
was rainy, cold and gray
birdsong
starts this day,
insects flit and buzz everywhere,
and the pigeons low cooing
continues until dusk
Sun and wind and greening grass,
clean smell of growing things
and freshly turned earth
promise gardens of delight
to come
The flowers of May
the fruits of June
and August’s bounty
drying, dying into autumn
We made it! Congratulations to everyone who wrote 30 poems in 30 days during the month of April! Well done, you!
What secrets
have we forgotten
that we learned from the trees
What lessons
have the winds taught
that we no longer recall
Have the moon and the seas
stopped speaking to us
or have we just stopped listening
4-25-20
To, “First do no harm”
if only politicians had
to make that pledge
Feel free to include your thoughts on the topic in the comments.
What would you do
to save a life?
What lengths
would you go to?
What hardships
would you endure?
Would you agree to
stay home, to be alone?
We certainly are not
the Greatest Generation.
But, perhaps one day
we will be known as
the Mediocreist Generation.
I walked up the hill
past the old climbing tree
and down the path
into the woods.
There is a deep layer
of dead, brown leaves
from last year,
maybe several years.
They crunch under foot,
like walking through skeletons.
Yet, the buds on the trees
are swelling, greening.
This is not morbid,
it simply is
the way things are,
life and death together.
Perhaps
our insistence
on separating the two,
on fearing and denying death
is what’s abnormal.
Today I will
fight against the chaos
of the world
today I will
write
today I will
read
today I will
paint
today I will
plant
a garden
today I will
give
food, blood, thanks
I am trying to concentrate on what I can do, not what is beyond my control. This isn’t quite right, but within the constraints of NaPoWriMo I will publish it, and hopefully come back to work on it sometime later.
#18
I have a lot of dreams,
lately
where I’m lost
and I can’t get to
wherever it is I need to be
Suddenly
things come up
distractions
complications –
baroque and convoluted
I’m off on a tangent
trying to fix
something
or solve some puzzle
and meanwhile
getting no closer
to where I’m meant to be
#19
We are tired
of staying home
of our own company
we are sick and tired
of hand washing and masks
soon we will be sick to death
#20
Yesterday
I planted a garden
I tilled the soil
until it was broken up fine
then I raked it smooth
I use the
broken handle
of a hoe
to space my rows
evenly
To make the rows straight
I use two stakes with
a piece of string
tied between them
I planted a row of
Sweet Ann peas
next to that
Red Bliss potatoes
(because who doesn’t want a little more bliss in her life?)
next Little Finger carrots
Detroit Dark Red beets
(though I live in Wisconsin)
and Mixed Heirloom leaf lettuce
Now I wait
and weed
and watch for miracles
Somehow my baby
turned thirty
last week
and her big brother
will be thirty-two
next month
Once I thought the
sleepless, pacing nights
would never end
as I carried one
then the other
trying to sing away
nightmares
and colic
But I closed my eyes
and dozed off
and somehow my baby
turned thirty
last week
This is for Hedgewitch’s FF55 Verse Escape
In Other Words 