April 3

Today you were mostly outside yourself.

You found a journal from nineteen fifty nine.

I got my hair done.
     Today I was too tired for church.
          A little girl died.

But not in that order.

Things aren't
always so logical.

April 2

It civilizes me
to live in a furnished apartment, to exist
with lace curtains
as a proper backdrop to scattered movements
through carved out spaces.
I think I will plan to stub my toe
today, a sudden work of art appears
from nowhere the colors swirl
into vivid focus the day takes me
face to face with adoration
of speaking plainly through the weeds.
I think it takes a long time to appreciate
boundaries.

NaPoWriMo prompt. First line borrowed from Arda Collins' poem Over No Hills.

April 1

I love the smell of gunpowder on Easter like the way two things shouldn't go together and I don't think I'll ever understand how one month ends and another begins and we say their names in order as if it can never be another way like when early Spring smells of late Autumn and your memories get all confused but today I followed the light from east to west and orange to blue and orange to purple and that piece that stirred three quarters way through doesn't seem to do that anymore.

Happy National Poetry Month

All The Time In The World

is a kind of silly thing
when the world is not of time
and time is not of the world
so does the line between the grass and woods feel as if time is slipping away
when there lies the infinite

Samuel Gardner

A snippet from a poem from Spoon River Anthology, "Samuel Gardner" ...

Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?

Davis Matlock

A poem from Spoon River Anthology, "Davis Matlock" ...

Suppose it is nothing but the hive:
That there are drones and workers
And queens, and nothing but storing honey--
(Material things as well as culture and wisdom)--
For the next generation, this generation never living,
Except as it swarms in the sun-light of youth,
Strengthening its wings on what has been gathered,
And tasting, on the way to the hive
From the clover field, the delicate spoil.
Suppose all this, and suppose the truth:
That the nature of man is greater
Than nature's need in the hive;
And you must bear the burden of life,
As well as the urge from your spirit's excess--
Well, I say to live it out like a god
Sure of immortal life, though you are in doubt,
Is the way to live it.
If that doesn't make God proud of you,
Then God is nothing but gravitation,
Or sleep is the golden goal.

Lucinda Matlock

A snippet from a poem from Spoon River Anthology, "Lucinda Matlock" ...

What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness,
Anger, discontent and drooping hopes?
Degenerate sons and daughters,
Life is too strong for you--
It takes life to love Life.

I Like That The Birds

I like that the birds have so much to say before the sun comes up
to meet the day in that sort of way
like fissures in time that sometimes present themselves
between the trees and memories
like separations of parts of things and non-things
where we stretch out to dwell for awhile, sometimes
I like not to be able to put my finger on something.



A poetry prompt from:

Wordle 100

It’s just like that sometimes
the way places stretch
and streets march on
and words die...
and we train ourselves
to master things that should not be mastered
and we learn to be still, and listen
for the calls are faint...
...create, change, share...

A poetry prompt from The Sunday Whirl.