April Confessions

Okay, I'll admit it. I haven't been very good at keeping up with the whole "Poem-A-Day" thing. I keep wanting to be this prolific poet and yet all I seem to do is procrastinate. Is that normal?
Anywho...
I did manage to get a few poems done this weekend. I don't know what's wrong with my creativity, but I think it might be broken. Or it needs new batteries. Does creativity take AA? Or does it need one of those little hearing aid ones that you can only buy in three packs at the Walgreens pharmacy counter?

Day Twenty Seven: The Trouble is ________ Poem

"The Trouble Is"

The trouble is, I want to be prolific.

But my poetic mind is inclined to ignore inspiration.

I teach writing and preach creativity while I drift through the desert of my own displaced ingenuity.


Wretchedly endeavoring to mold moments of creation into a vocation,

how does one truly know it:

the day one finally becomes a poet?

Day Twenty Five: Sport Poem

“Hunting”

On a sultry summer evening, just before sunset,

while cicadas sing in the dogwood trees,

two freckled children frolic in the grass,

following fireflies that hover in front of their faces

like playful sprites.

Later, they will call forth comfort from

the crystalline phials of captured lightning bugs

when they wake in the wee small hours, feeling haunted

by phantasms and half-dreams turned to horrors.

The tiny glowing dancers next to the bed will remind them of

laughter,

luscious red strawberries gobbled raw from the garden, and

twilight games together—

and then they will close their eyes and whisper,“Welcome,

Mr. Sandman. Did you bring me Fancies?

Will you hold my hand and show me the road to Slumber Land?”

Day Seventeen: Fantasy Poem

"Second Star to the Right, and Straight on ‘til Morning"

For a hundred years I have been 

your mother,

your lover,

your best friend.

It was I

who sprinkled you with fairy dust when you were just

a babe,

who lifted you,

lost and bewildered from the rain-soaked bassinet.

It was I

who taught you how to fly.

For 100 years,

we have battled pirates,

chased shadows,

led lost boys.

For 100 years, I heard you crow and watched you grow.

For 100 years, I have waited.

For 100 years, I have loved you with all the passion my tiny fairy heart can hold.

But how could I know that Neverland could never satisfy

those deep desires: your yearnings to a feel a human woman’s arms around you?

You left because you loved Moira’s sleeping face.

You left this place:

the Indians.

The Mermaids.

And me.

For 100 years, I have waited.

And I would wait 100 more

for you...

Peter...

Day Fifteen: slash, button, mask, balloon, strap

The Masked Madman

“Button da backa dat straightjacket, son.

Strap him in tight naw, or he slash you face off—

jes' like dem poor bastahds, Billy and Phil.

Dey wretched, son.

Wretched.

Wretched…

Why? WHY??

‘Cause dey done suhVIVED, son!

He peel’d off dey skins liken an Injun scalpin’ a white mayn

and lef’ ‘em layin’ dere—

ALAHVE.

An’ nen,

he tied a balloon neahby,

an’ sat dahwn, an’ cackled ‘til dey caught him.

Day Fourteen: Doomsday Poem

Repent! The End is Near!


Prophets and sages predict it
and street preachers with sandwich-board signs shout out about the apocalypse.


The TRUTH is--


Nobody really knows anything.
And we're all just afraid to say so.

Day Eleven: Season Poem

Spring: a couplet


I plant flowers every year with my hopes flying high.
But all those bastards ever do is die!

Day Ten: Tree Poem

Haiku: April 10, 2012

Meditating by

the willow tree, I feel it

whispering to me.

Day Eight: Rejected Poem

A Brussels Sprout’s Lament





You chewed me up and swallowed; and then,

I came swiftly right back up again. 

Day Seven: Two People Interacting Without Speaking

Christian

I kneel slowly down beside him and my knees crack.

Smoothing his silky baby curls, his searching sapphire eyes meet mine

and all the sounds slowly disappear.

It seems the bleeps don't matter anymore.

For as he looks at me, my throat catches at the wisdom I see.

I have known his soul before...

Day Six: Hiding Poem

The thrumming startled me.
I wasn’t expecting to see a hummingbird
so near— up close and personal—
especially in the middle of the Mojave.


But I suppose something magical was hidden deep inside that inconsequential ruby bloom,
because the tiny bird hovered there, searching earnestly.


I’m not sure if he found what he was looking for.
He darted away just as I was about to ask him.

Day Five: Something Before My Time Poem

Jericho: a triolet


It must have been magnificent,
watching the walls crumble,
conceding to the justice of Divine judgment.


It must have been magnificent.
Victory via trumpet— brilliant!


Bringing down battlements with a choral rumble.


It must have been magnificent
watching the walls crumble.

Day Four: 100% ___________ Poem

100% Warrior Poet


I feel it in my bones:
The call of the wilds of Ireland.
Boudicca’s legacy sings in my blood.


I am Telesilla, 
leading warriors with my words.


I am Deborah, 
guiding Barak into battle.


I am Berenice,
champion of the charioteers.


I am Zenobia, commanding an insurrection.
I am Cleopatra, maneuvering an armada.
I am Cartimandua, sheltering a traitor.


I secede in silence,
because I have spit my tongue at Dionysus’ feet.

Day Three: Apologetic Poem

Give Me Jesus


I have become water: tasteless and translucent.


Forgive me for taking You for granted, Dearest Friend.
Turn me into wine again:


I want to be intoxicating.

Day Two: Visitor Poem

“Disease”


Good evening.
I was not invited here, 
so you may be thinking of me as an invader instead of a visitor.


I was not invited here.


In fact, my presence will remain unknown until 
the damage is already done.
And there will be unimaginable amounts of damage done.


In the interim, there will be pain. 
You will fall on your knees and beg God to help you.
You will cry.
You will tear at your hair.
You will wish you had never existed.


And at the end, when hope has disappeared 
and you have been poured out like water,
I will leave—


and you will go with me.

Day One: Communication Poem

#BookIdol
Anne Shirley:
Her starry-eyed capacity
for imagination and creativity
inspires me.


#Dalek Books
The Old Man and the Dalek
The Secret Life of Daleks
Lord of the Daleks
Are You My Dalek?
The Daleks of Avalon. The Giving Dalek. The Scarlet Dalek. Everything I Need to Know I Learned From a Dalek.
The Lion, the Witch, and the Dalek.
#okayimdonenow