NaPoWriMo, Day Nineteen

Had this notion on the way to work about the color of the world seeping up toward the sky in spring but on the way home I saw my first of the wonderful white flowering shrubs that to me really speak to Spring’s official arrival.

After four, maybe five months of the sky
throwing down sifts and squalls and bucket loads
of snow and more snow and piling it up
in the normal fashion of New England
And it seems to many deeper and more
snow than it has to be to make a point.
Miraculously it all vanishes
but the woods stand brown and empty awhile.
The earth at last yields color to the world –
the new grasses shining in golden light
treetops pink and impossibly yellow
waiting for leaves to burst summery.
Shrub rows of white petals wind-tossed laughing
spring flecks falling across the joyous sky.

NaPoWriMo Day Seven

Because I think we’re all here.

And here’s what I did before work today:

Life in 2017

The constant, low-level adrenaline
pushed out all my thoughts
made your fingers twitch
interrupted any conversation
made your stomach hurt. made my temples throb.
How to soothe this inner shivering mess
in the words of the wise: make art, breathe deep,
string words together into poetry
write tales to bind up the ragged edges
while you’re making and thinking and writing
and looking around at the world at hand
the world as it really is, beautiful
and whole, filled with light and darkness and birds
all thoughts belong to me and you alone.

NaPoWriMo Day Five

This was a stretch and I know, before the editing is done, there will be even more alternate ending couplets than I have already….

Clean out the closet, the drawer-fuls of things
making room, space, to welcome in the new
Throw out the ratty, the tattered and worn
the last decade’s style, the no-longer-fits.
Perhaps these can be re-purposed, perhaps
they can be donated, gifted, elsewhere
but it’s as likely that they must go out,
out in big black bags, or some old boxes
to a donation bin, or a thrift shop
maybe to the annual rummage sale.
The same is true of words, writing poems,
words and fashions come and go, like seasons
I’ll put on my own clothes, comfortably
and use my own words to write a sonnet

NaPoWriMo Day 1

I wrote these last night onto my phone. Little did I know that the early bird prompt was of prose and haiku.

I fold the words, clouds
Sailing on seas blue, endless,
Purposeful, loving.

this telling of sky:
the love it holds out to clouds
protective of stars.

Scooping up the wind
Directing it now to hills,
Now to the river

So I’m off to a month of poems, today combining haiku and sonnet-form.

I fold the words, clouds creased on seas blue
endlessly sailing, purposeful of love
This telling of the sky, holding out stars
protective, small repeated gesturing
which sweeps the night, trees clattering with wind
in between, the stars refrain the chatter
popping with glint until clouds win again
and the night shivers with rain, falling cold.
Going out to see what is in the world
Stepping off the porch, rain or snow or clear
The world travels in its late night journey
Far off the train sings or an owl calling
Far off the house seems, a few steps further
past the tree to learn what of the night.

Cease to Be

When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be
By John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Day 30, NaPoWriMo – Waiting for the May

The last of April, green thrown lightly to
the near hills, a scarf catching the last sun
and lit improbably, rims each bobble
and guides the weary homeward once again.
It settles under the long waiting world
which holds forth the early blossoms – to May!
tonight the world will turn to spring’s soft arms
in her sweetest embrace, remembering
what winter’s freeze and snow has pushed aside
Tomorrow in the dawn, the bells a-ring,
the feet shall leap and hearts rise up as well
in song they’ll call and answer with gladness.
Wait in the night, watchers of the springtide
wait and watch, with ready song and garland.

Day 30, NaPoWriMo the final day

I started a different poem but went with this idea that I’d thought of earlier in the month and then not written down. A little prosie, but I hope it captures the moment.

Long ago, behind Sukie’s bright pink house
we played in woods all oaken, dark and green
Just there, behind a stump, a tiny man
sitting quiet, a greenish hat cocked so.
He knew we’d spotted him, no doubt at all
so we hunkered down behind a log
and waited. We crouched until we could
not match his stillness – not a bit longer.
He’d not twitched a hair nor moved a finger
and us, knowing in our eight year old hearts
that magic was involved, and not speaking
crept away, and resumed our hour of play.
I look for him in the woods yet today
the green cap, the nameless magic, the gnome.