So Much Depends…

On a red shopping cart.

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Day Thirty, NaPoWriMo

It’s good to jot down words:
a line of conversation,
two words or three that
appear on the windshield
during the drive to work
good to capture them in
the dailyness of life
snatching them from
wherever words and ideas go
when they decide you’ve
ignored them too long
or aren’t paying attention.
Listening and looking for them,
muse-like they appear regularly
and, having paper and pen
at the ready, they stay.
The day to day after day
of describing and remembering
is an adventure without
known destination. The road
turns or brinks a hill
and there you are watching
birds boiling up on
paper-scrap wings to
a sky yet unseen.

Thank you to all my April NaPoWriMo visitors, readers and commentators. Hope you had a great month and thanks for sharing my thirty newly written poems!

Day Twenty-nine, NaPoWriMo

I can tell I’ve been listening to the lays of Bilbo.

Here, small works,
the labor of the world,
are known, that day by day
we hurry through
both chores and song
and lightly running
pass down one path
then next and next
penultimate unknown
a day is reached
and then the last
how many paths til
that rest place found
Neither knowing nor telling
the days lead on.
Sit! Stay then,
telling tales and singing
here where life lies
and sweet work of living
guessing what may be
past the hill’s edge
there where the clouds fly

This morning Mom and I went to visit the Cohoes Falls and then breakfast and then some pokemoning.

Day 28, NaPoWriMo

I’m off topic from my own prompts today…

So alike, mother and daughter,
that as the mother scolds her
for sins of inattention and
fidgeting and whining
and perhaps a tantrumI
I can easily imagine the
little girl, using the
same words and tone
to upbraid her mother
you can’t always have
your own way, she’d say,
you won’t get it by pouting,
as she holds out a spoonful
of applesauce to the elder lips
which tremble at the mere
possibility of no.
And so it goes on, her
fidgeting and whining
the mother scolding and
distractedly fixing
her daughter’s earring
until they both focus on
something else in the
food court and leave
on a singular mission
of fulfilling desires.

Day Twenty-seven, NaPoWriMo

Jumped? No.
Not at all.
Falling? Not exactly.
Allowed myself to fall?
Gave myself willingly
to the spring surge,
the tidal pull?
More than likely.
Look the wrong way
and it plows down
and sweeps you away
unexpected.
Not necessarily
surprised but still…
Turn upstream and see
that last bit of ice
that dark wave of
night-long rain coming
Be ready to lift
your joyous feet.

Cohoes Falls, today.

Day Twenty-six, NaPoWriMo

Those sitting with hills
brushing their hair with wind
having a cloud ceiling.
These are the folk, trusted
and thought to be brave
facing the dangers they find
and ignoring the phantoms.
The birds bring them news
and the seasons, in turn,
bring them joy and wisdom
bearing new changes and gifts
Those sitting with hills
have gentle hands, knowing
life to be tender, a baby
or kitten or fish to hold
and then when done
to set it free, smiling.

Day Twenty-five, NaPoWriMo

In the rain the ground
parts to let the still greenness
flow upward and out.
In the rain the greens
resolve to face April’s chill
leaving the warm mould.
In the rain the world
takes a big breath of soft spring
and relaxing, exhales.