Watermark

NaPoWriMo - The End

I promised to post a poem or a poetry-related post every day in April -- and I almost made it. But I hit the wall four days before the end, posting my last poem on Saturday, April 26th (or Tuesday the 29th, if you want to count this one.)  And this post is being written on Sunday, May 4th, not the end of April date at the head of the post. That's a cheat, to keep this post in the NaPoWriMo month.

Even though I didn't make it all the way through, I enjoyed this exercise. It kept me open, receptive to whatever presented itself. Though I didn't post every poem, I accepted every impulse -- and those that did not evolve into something postable may still be fertile seeds. We had a poem dance; several folks wrote pieces from my NaPoWriMo prompts; and Fran and Cindy helped me fill out the month.

I'm still a bit emptied-out, so posting may be slow for another few days. But I'll fill up again soon.

 And -- the sun is out!

What Matters

It doesn't matter that it's snowing in April,
and it doesn't matter that the wallet is scant.
Outside these windows, snow is blowing,
but inside the light is yellow and the table
is covered with food -- beans, corn, chicken,
tortillas. Around the table are the cooks
and the guests and the host, being guested
at her own table. There is root beer, dark
beer, ginger ale, vodka and orange juice,
salsa and avocados. There are limes.

There are old friends and new family.
There is goddaughter, laughing. The man
who cooked the meal is big and tattooed
from the neck down. His earlobes are
the size of condiment bowls. He should be
fierce. He should be frightening. Instead,
he fills the bellies of these recent strangers
with chile verde, sour cream and salsa.
It's cold out there. It snows, then hails,
then rains. In here, it's crowded, and warm.

 

colors [an old poem]

driving into a purple sky
    a red house      
    a yellow house

could i paint this?
    children running
    on a green field

then, the town square
    a domed building
    a military statue

who made these rules?

flags and banners
    boulevard trees
    bend in the wind

the aspen, singing
    could i paint this?
    all the blue light

NaPoWriMo

Today's poem.

Earth Day 02008

For Earth Day, I'm reposting this:

MP3 File

Why Must It Be Beautiful?

What is it for, all this
beauty? The curve
of the spiral

from the laddered
twist of DNA
to the vast wave

of galaxies; the green
luna moth, breath-
taking & ordinary. 

Does the prey see
beauty in its predator?
Do gazelles admire

the leopard? Does
the seal lift
its sleek head

to gaze in wonder
at the bumbling,
lethal polar bear?

Our science tells us 
how. Our science
gives us reason.

But why must it be
beautiful? The aero-
nautic miracle

of the bumble bee;
the passing brilliance
of the butterfly. Surely

predators would be
more deterred by
ugliness. The hideous

and the platypus
have their own glory.
Humans have our

own glory. Do other
creatures adore
the useless,

the only gorgeous,
the green wave
of Northern Lights

dimming the stars?
The indented shadow
of the heron's bath

in a snowdrift? Why
must it be beautiful?
When we pass, with

the bee, with
the butterfly,
with the polar bear,

the leopard,
the gazelle,
who will grieve

this deep and terrible
loss? Who will delight
in what comes next?

NaPoWriMo

Today's poem is from Fran:

Tree
deep rooted in the earth
laced into  sky
map of generations
outliving all
 cliche of truth
in a hundred languages.

This was left (with no link, so I'll not make guesses...) on the NaPoWriMo Prompts post. I'm thinking it might be for Prompt #12.

Pink Moon

Full Moon over Fitzroy
Originally uploaded by johncarney

Pink Moon, Egg Moon,
you bring snow
and crow complaining
from the spruce tree.
You bury the crocus.
You bend the trees down.
Grass Moon, Fish Moon,
harbinger of spring,
why are you so cold?

Apr. 20, 6:25 a.m. EDT — Full Pink Moon. The grass pink or wild ground phlox is one of the earliest widespread flowers of the spring. Other names were the Full Sprouting Grass Moon, the Egg Moon, and — among coastal tribes — the Full Fish Moon, when the shad came upstream to spawn.

Difficulties

I am participating in a TypePad Beta, and the latest glitch is that Watermark mostly won't come up at www.sbpoet.com; instead, what comes up is a long- napping photo weblog. You can get to individual posts, if you have the URL, but the main page is stubborn and misbehaving even when it does come up. This makes posting difficult.

Also, Spike is in hospital. We think he'll be OK; it seems to be a combination of bad teeth and severe constipation. This is the first time in fifteen years -- since he was kitten off to be neutered -- that my house has not had Spike in it.

So -- here is yesterday's poem, and you may not see another for a few days.

V-Poem in Your Pocket Day

Today is V{agina} Day

It's also Poem in Your Pocket Day

There's a metaphor in there somewhere