NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Thirty

There may be one more. Or not. This was started in the wee-small hours. I appreciate all the visitors and all the poems that were shared by the April poets!

The Last before May

Why, April,
are you so fickle?
holding back words
pelting down rain
and even snow
You’ve teased and
tossed your head
and now trees are
clouds, rolling waves
upon the hills
now green again.
But you, you dance
and sing
and wave
and go again.

NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Thirty

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NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Twenty-Six

This still needs some tumbling but here it goes for now:

April’s heavy clouds,
oppose fluorescent maples
bright yellow willows
with sun or no
the trees
above rich greens
first sparks
no heat yet
a welcome light

NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Twenty-Six

NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Sixteen

Ginny and I had a chat this morning, before I fed them all and went out to paint.

Morning Chat With Cat

Don’t worry.
I love you.
It’s OK.
Someday,
we’ll both
be old.
But today
is not
that day.

NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day Sixteen was originally published on

Day 4 NaPoWriMo

Grey stubble of trees along the river
fuzz along the ridges
waiting for spring
clouds grey above, water steel
hills dark, trees bare and shaking
in the hard wind of today
we’re all trembling,
waiting for spring
praying for strength
praying for renewal.

The Tail End of March

March is winding down. Spring has officially arrived but the world of New England and beyond isn’t buying it quite yet. We know this is nothing unusual, having had deep snow even into April but the heart is built to hope and well-supplied with fond memories of warmer weather.

Having reached this far, I’m trying to prepare mentally for NaPoWriMo – yes, it’s time to buckle down and write a poem a day, with only myself and the glory of it all to push for accomplishment. It’s not that you can write a brilliant poem every stinking day for thirty days, but you can sit down and write something. Might be a set of haiku. Sometimes those become something else. It’s just the daily practice, the dailiness that we’re going for here.

How to get ready? Decide on a whether there will be a theme or a form that will build that thirty day arc. Read the helpful materials being posted on writing and writing poetry. I’d say have all the pens ready and filled and paper ready but seriously I’m usually more of a digital creator. Sometimes though you go with a back of an envelope. That’s a fine tradition worth continuing too.

Today’s World Poetry Day – take a poem to lunch! Say something aloud. Amaze yourself and your friends!

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-seven

I saw the twists of lilies of the valley coming up by the diner this morning and remembered the side yard of my paternal grandparent and my father’s aunt and uncle’s house.

Lilies of the Valley

By the steps, bound with wooden planks,
whorls of leaves appearing suddenly,
fiercely and unreasonably optimistic.
In another side yard, years ago
these same pointed spikes of green
equally dogged and determined and light
filled a barren yard where in summer
the ancient catalpa would cast darkness
so complete, no grass ever grew
but in April and afterward these leaves
arise, an undisturbed tradition, rising
to provide for may day and mothers day
the most fragrant and cherished bouquet.
Here, in my own yard, they endeavor
cheered perhaps by daffodils before them and
holding within those tightly twisted leaves
everything they need to delight the nose
and fill glasses on windowsills everywhere.

NaPoWriMo, Day Twelve

Haven’t you heard the effect of peepers zooming by in the night?

I wanted to write you words tonight
driving home from work, after a movie
but I watched the world instead.
The highway rolled by, familiar,
random red dots leading me on,
behind, beads strung across
the mirror, those urging me on.
In town, a sideview glance
confirmed the green as I passed.
Why do I always look?
Then miles more of two lane but
the old car’s rumblings can’t
conceal the Doppler waves of peepers
passing in the springtide.
In the dark driveway,
April uncertainty shrugged off by
Orion, he sits on the rim of the world
pondering his journey while I
fetch the mail and go inside.