April = National Poetry Month
tsopotelba
Posts: 80
April is National Poetry Month. I'm writing a poem every day to celebrate, even though I don't write poetry. I should, though, I am very good, as you can tell by my first two:
1
O April you foolhardy beast!
Tra la la, tra la loo,
That is what I always do.
I'm making this poem up right now
Because I am a lazy cow
Who didn't write a poem yesterday
And now has to fake her way
Through the day.
Hip hooray,
Touche,
Yay.
2
When I was a girl
I played Barbies in lilacs.
Then they got chopped down.
(The first one, yeah, I forgot to write one yesterday. The second, of course, is a haiku.)
1
O April you foolhardy beast!
Tra la la, tra la loo,
That is what I always do.
I'm making this poem up right now
Because I am a lazy cow
Who didn't write a poem yesterday
And now has to fake her way
Through the day.
Hip hooray,
Touche,
Yay.
2
When I was a girl
I played Barbies in lilacs.
Then they got chopped down.
(The first one, yeah, I forgot to write one yesterday. The second, of course, is a haiku.)
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Comments
The best part was that you promised to write one for every day, I can't wait.
it only makes today worse.
And not a lover
Paradised under the mutest bough.
I look through my window and see
The ghost of life flitting bat-winged.
O I am as old as a sage can even be,
O I am as lonely as the first fool kinged.
The horse in his stall turns away
From the hay-filled manger, dreaming of grass
Soft and cool in hollows. O does he neigh
Jealousy-words for John Mac Guigan's ass
That never was civilised in stall or trace.
An unmusical ploughboy whistles down the lane
Not worried at all about the fate of Europe.
While I sit here feeling the subtle pain
That every silenced poet has endured.
-Patrick Kavanagh
Copyright © Estate of Katherine Kavanagh
Apparently
It's an hour later than it's supposed to be.
My morning's gone,
The sun is too,
And I have many things that I have to do
But an hour less to do them.
Man: you looked nice, but
rumbly burps and ADD elbows,
I'm not sitting next to you again.
Clerk
My soft hands
useless and brittle
the only pushing they do
paper and keys
My arms
small and white
seen neither sun nor shovel in months
Someone else can hold the world now
I'm so tired, so hungry
I worked so hard today.
4/7 again
I want to be tiny,
Squint-to-see-me tiny.
I want to be tiny.
Tinier than you.
But tall.
Tiny and tall, towering over you.
But tinier than you.
And strong.
Powerful, with muscles.
But tiny.
Tiny and tall and strong.
And big boobs.
Tiny and tall and strong with boobs.
And no hair, except for the hair on my head.
And eyebrows and eyelashes.
Thick hair, thin eyebrows, thick eyelashes long and black.
And red lips.
And blinding white teeth.
And glossy pink toenails.
But mostly, tiny.
Tinier than you,
In my tiny pants that are too big.
7
Writing poems is hard,
That's why I'm not a bard.
I know they shouldn't rhyme
And they should be about the grime
and toil of modern life
and packed totally full of strife
and anguish and agony!
But I write poems about
writing poems about stuff
and my lines are full of fluff
like these:
tra la la
tra la la
la
la
dee da...
Ah I'm tired, grr.
243
It took a while but I drew
the perfect 2
Sesame Street would be so proud of me
but actually
I lied
It only took me one try
and it was slightly leaning forward
But it was good enough for me
I should be good enough for you
but there's no accounting
for other people's horrors.
The night fell down and
we stood up and
we slowly walked away -
And here I am today
A 2 and 2 for you and you
and fancy numbers on
yellow paper squares.
9
I like M&Ms
More and more each year it seems
The blues, reds, and greens
10
Work, blah.
Computer hurry up.
I'm sitting here on my ass
Computer hurry up.
Mmm mmm M&Ms
Computer hurry up.
Damn it, I'm serious
Computer hurry up.
Lag lag
Computer hurry up.
Check my email while I wait
Computer hurry up.
Plane tickets to Australia, why not?
Computer hurry up.
Wait - they're cheap right now
Never mind, computer.
I'll bill it - "Computer downtime"
My picture is sexier than yours
Let's see
who can be
the most fabulous Kathy
in all the land
Special bonus poem, written at work today by my left hand!
Laboriously
my left hand
scratches out
what my right hand
haughty and heady
effluviates effortlessly
All R 1
No breath has ever escaped from the atmosphere
Maybe sucked into outer space through a vortex created by a spaceship
Escaped DNA?
Oxygen inhaled by Adam
Exhaled by a cave man
A dinosaur?
An alien?
A piece of me
Molecules too small to see with the naked eye
Too small to care about?
Will still be essential to life
After this paper breaks down
Like the tree and its untimely death
Which contributed to a muffler system for our planet
A pair of lungs are one in the same?
What must have this planet looked like two hundred years ago
On the average of forty years a generation
When the thirty-two people who make me up from that point in time
Had their stay upon the surface of the big blue marble in space
Tanning under the same sun
Getting caught in the same rain
Cultivating essential crops for existence
Working as one?
Gated communities?
Keeper of the gates?
Forced entry required?
Stolen property
Rape and pillage
Murder
The planet does its best to bounce back
Blood, scar, heal
Everything does it
Nothing lasts forever
Small, yet meaningful
Captains of the ship
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white:
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
Then of thy beauty do I question make
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow,
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence.
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
I told you I told you
Or I didn't but you should have known
See can't you see?
You're not good enough for me
I mean I'm not good enough for you
And if there's one thing I won't do
It's hurting you
Which I know I'll do
And so I'll go
But I think you should know
It's not me it's you
I mean it's not you it's me
Because I'm poison you see
And don't try to change me
Because it's my destiny
Yeah maybe that's an excuse
for further abuse
but it's your fault I think
for not listening to me
when I told you - I told you!
or I didn't but still -
I'm poison I'm poison
And there's nothing you can do
No longer yours than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know
You had a father: let your son say so.
My niece turns 4 today! Happy Birthday Miss Joyful Care Bear!
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
Fallen on a field of play
Nearly trampled, squashed and ate
Bravely, faithfully did you wait
And you were saved, your life was bright
With tiny beeps and meager light
We came together, a timely tryst
Inseparable, attached at the wrist
The best of friends, we roamed the globe
Cross Europe many tales are told
Australia, Scotland, Mexico
The USA - away we'd go
But you grew old, your beeps gave out
Still, to me, your word had clout
But then one day after a trip
I took you off, I lost my grip
I kept you on Australia time
And left you in that room of mine
And faithfully you kept the count
Occasionally you'd help me out
And then last week you up and died
A wail was heard - the whole world cried
A day after that, I couldn't wait
I got a new one, it's really great
A yellow button, Indiglo
With my new watch away I go
or you might fall and slip your crown
pant pant pant the bouquet flies
Polly comes in with harried eyes
the sweat the glamour of the job
Polly's become a twisted knob
seduced by quarters dimes and sin
a resumé's not a place within
it's just a piece of paper dear
but seeing you I think it's clear
the job's the thing, the stress it brings
and Polly works until she sings.
and you're no doubt bowled over by my overpowering poeticism, too. Thank you.
Here is a poem for yesterday that I made up today. No, here is a poem for today, and I'll write one for yesterday later, maybe tomorrow:
Sometime in the night
a snail was murdered at my doorstep.
Mush and guts here,
a shell there, with goo.
16
Here I come clip clip clop
It doesn't matter that I can't really walk
At least I sound fabulous
And as you can see I'm dressed for success
Do I look silly? Pshaw, not me.
I'm fabulous, accomplished and oh so pretty.
17
Took two pink pills,
didn't get high.
Took two more,
still nothing,
but now there's a tiny UFO
buzzing around me like a fly.
18
Hmm sigh harumph
Nearly nine hours
I've been sitting on my rump.
Hmm sigh harumph
I didn't even get up for lunch
cuz I was talking to my cellmates.
19
Oh Billy you look so pretty
with your new shiny bald head
your pointy teeth and your turtlenecks
I'm in love with your sadness too
But Billy Billy how often do you tell the truth
and how often is it lies
and how can you be sad if sadness makes you happy?
Lover you should have come over
Imagine this:
Me, you, the moon, the lake,
a log, our lips,
and a wayward slug.
What made you change your mind,
me or the slug?
About the birds
I saw you, you dirty bird
You filthy murderous beast
I saw you, you fat juicy killer
with your red psycho eyes and your greasy brown feathers
I saw you and stepped hard and still you came my way.
This one will get you crying, if you aren't already
Time catches up with even the fastest of dogs.
I like these every day!!! where you been???
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Ha ha, I was at work writing poems, obviously.
Poetry Prevention
NEW YORK—This month marks the 10th National Poetry Month, a campaign created in 1996 to raise public awareness of the growing problem of poetry. "We must stop this scourge before more lives are exposed to poetry," said Dr. John Nieman of the American Poetry Prevention Society at a Monday fundraising luncheon. "It doesn't just affect women. Young people, particularly morose high-school and college students, are very susceptible to this terrible affliction. It is imperative that we eradicate poetry now, before more rainy afternoons are lost to it." Nieman said some early signs of poetry infection include increased self-absorption and tea consumption.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
That made me laugh.
Unfortunately it is not that far from the way some people feel. I was told to trim down my poetry unit and try to phase it out as it's not going to be that important on the state tests in the future.
It is the 28th of April, nearing the end of National Poetry Month, and we're all breathing a sigh of relief about that. We are also all eagerly awaiting the start of May, National Masturbation Month.
I am going Away for the weekend and won't be back until next Tuesday, and of course by then I'll be too caught up in next month's activities to bother wrapping up stale old Poetry Month poems, so I'm doing it all tonight.
Writing poems is hard! Especially when you can't write them! Thanks for reading them anyway!
23
I am a gray lady,
brown and wrinkled.
I smoke in my coat,
it's black, it's gray like me,
and my blue eyes are gray,
and my brown hair is gray.
24
I.
Truck -
leak.
Gah!
25
Monday morning
Wait, I just went to bed
My head is still ringing.
But the bus waits for no man,
and no woman.
I must get up.
Just, five more minutes.
26
II.
Truck -
leak.
Where?
Gah!
27
Road trip
Get in the car
Drive
Drive
Drive
Get out
See where you are
Across the USA
28
It's me again -
It is I, the gray lady.
I used to be brown,
I used to be platinum and blue.
I invite all gray ladies
to come forward
and share their tales.
um... and if I cheat and count the bonus one I posted, that makes 29, which means I only have to write one more! Hooray! I will make it about Pearl Jam:
30
You are my favorite band,
I love going to your shows,
Please come play in my bedroom
Tonight.
THE END
Good job
Here's to the legislators who had something other than national poetry month on their minds.
You so fine-d
Bad enough to be an urban legend
legislators are really out there
changing the world
giving new meaning
to the words
fashion police.
in the works was some document
fining people fifty dollars
For public displays of panty lines
in particular:
visible butt floss
And pants that give garters
A new look.
Thank god, our right
To show panties
Has been protected
And that someone is
Keeping a close eye
On that situation.