National Poetry Month – US – Day #1

National Poetry Month, a celebration of poetry which takes place each April, was introduced in 1996 and is organized by the Academy of American Poets as a way to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry in the United States. -Wiki

In that spirit I will post a poem here each day in April.  I mean, c’mon, we can only consume so many pandemic media reports.

And here’s Day 1:

I hold a heap of insults in my arms
they are so heavy and piled
so high, I can barely see
over the top.
I don’t know how much
more
I can carry
or how much
longer
I can hold them;
the effort is all-consuming.
But I am careful to never
drop a single one,
and now I add another to the pile
I stagger under their weight.
As I go about my days
I grow bent and bitter
under my burdens.
After all these years,
and all this time,
it has never occurred to me
that I could simply put them down.

NaPoWriMo #29

This morning the birds sing me awake
to a lightening sky,
when ,a month ago,
the moon waited to greet me
before leaving in silence.

Today there is green
where all was gray and black
just yesterday.
Pink and yellow tulips
have appeared out of the dirt
and before them
purple and yellow and white
snow drop flowers
so delicate, yet so sturdy.

We call this spring,
but let us not forget
it is also a myriad of miracles

I feel like this needs work, but that will have to be after NaPoWriMo. Hope you all are having a fruitful day. And for those of you also committed to write a poem each day of April, we’re almost there!!

NaPoWriMo #27

Yesterday I stumbled
yesterday I forgot
yesterday I was imperfect

Fortunately
yesterday does not define me.

Today is new and fresh
and mine to fill
with joy

*Today is also Independent Bookstore Day. Please celebrate accordingly, and support your local, independent book shops.

NaPoWriMo #26

It feels like I’m just sitting
in my chair, typing
and drinking coffee,
but actually I’m spinning
almost 1000 miles an hour,
and travelling through space
on this biggish rock
we call Earth
at about 18 miles per second
Isn’t that remarkable?

And is it any wonder
I’m exhausted
at the end of the day?

NaPoWriMo #25

Driving north down 162
I see a bald eagle
soaring on an updraft
then, seemingly, from nowhere
a crow,
much smaller,
attacks the eagle
again and again

And I wonder
if it is the majestic eagle,
victim of the vicious attacks
from this small, dark smudge,
yet flies on, undeterred
is to be admired
for carrying on,
undeterred

Or if the brave crow
protecting family and home
from a scavenging hulk,
a David fighting off Goliath,
is the hero of this story.

Or if they are both, simply,
doing their best
to survive.
No heroes, no villains
except in my eyes

NaPoWriMo #24

My lost friends are stacked,
like playing cards,
set on the table
of my immobility,
my inability to reach out
to communicate.

I think so fondly of them
of the times and adventures we shared
tender, or exciting, or comforting
as close as family,
once

In my mind
I take each one,
examine her, remembering
then I take them all – the stack,
the deck
I shuffle them,
deal them out, face up
and begin another game of
solitaire

This is really rough, but I like the idea of it. I have friends that I have lost touch with, for no reason. We never had a falling out or anything like that. We just were no longer had daily or frequent interactions and either business or inertia or something has kept us apart. I got this image while driving and thinking, and tried to write it down (without crashing).
“Friends I have lost, structured like playing cards,” is my note. This makes me think of two things. One is the Virginia Woolf quote, something like, I have lost friends, some to death some to the sheer inability to cross the street.
The other thing it reminds me of is the Pink Floyd song about pictures of faces on newspapers …their folded faces to the floor….

Anyway, some work needed, but it’s a promising start.

NaPoWriMo – #23

What is the gold standard of time?
And how do we tell time
by the sun and the stars
when the ever-constant sun
opens and closes the star gate
at different “times”
not just each day,
but each year
on the same day?
(Is that why we don’t
wear sun dials on our wrists?)
Just what is this thing we measure
and divide into smaller and smaller bits?
Who enforces this abstraction?
And what arrogance enables us,
mere specks in the cosmos,
to believe we are keeping time
not just for Greenwich
but for the entire Universe?

I think this poem probably reflects my ignorance of science more than anything, but it originated when I was looking up times of sunset. And of course, the time of sunset changes with daylight growing shorter and longer with the seasons, but didn’t realize that also, sunset is at a different time on the same day of different years. Of course it is, because with leap year the same day isn’t even the same each year. That was poorly said, but hopefully you know what I mean. Then I looked up the time standard and discovered it’s no longer called Greenwich Mean, but Coordinated Universal Time. So, that’s probably more than you ever wanted to know – but I hope it wasn’t a waste of your time!

NaPoWriMo #22

Yesterday it was so warm
I went outside with
no coat, no gloves, no scarf.
I felt the sun on my face
and breathed in
moisture-laden air
with the subtle smell of spring.
I pushed my fingers
into the warm earth.
It’s been a long, long winter.

Happy Earth Day!