Sunday, April 23, 2017

National Poetry Writing Month April 2017

Six days in to April, I found out that it's National Poetry Writing Month and decided I'd participate.  I'm not going to lie, I've made some pretty horrific poetry in the last 23 days.  Some epically, hysterically bad poetry.  That I'm not going to post here, but you can torture yourself and endure here if you so wish.

But there have also been a couple of rough gems in the mix.  And I thought I'd share them today:

From Day 7:

- Janin Wise

She could.
She would.
He did.
She didn't.

And so
she watched,
As his star rose,
And her own diminished.

But she'd
The most
important thing.

He did: his.

And only she,
Could ever do: hers.

Their stars
were not tied,
and bound
on a scale.

And the heavens
have enough open sky
for us all to shine,
if we dare.

From Day 8:

The Wisdom of a Juniper
-Janin Wise

I saw
a small,
twisted juniper.

That in passing
seemed an ancient,
wizen man.

beneath the weights
of a life time.

And as I mused,
pondering the hidden messages
of such things
glimpsed sideways,

The tree
paid me no mind
and did
as it has always done:

Enjoyed the breeze
through its branches,
the rain on its bark,
the taste of the earth,
and the thrivings of life.

And as I continued
on my way,

I wondered
that I might have
the courage of a tree:

To simple live
as I am meant,

or would I find myself
bent beneath
my own weights
and life times?

From Day 10:

The Flavor of Words
-Janin Wise

When I was a child,
I collected dictionaries,
reading them as voraciously
as any other literary work.

I delighted in pouring over
pronunciation guides,
sounding out the shapes and feels
of diphthongs and umlauts.

I approached
unknown words
like hidden treasures
waiting to be delved.

I savored
on first meeting them-

I devoured in quick bites
and peels of laughter.

I purred it to myself,
rolling it around my mouth.

Giggling at the feel of it
in the curl and pop of my lips,
the flick of my tongue,
and the expanding of my vocabulary.

...I even nightmared that each person
was apportioned only so many words,
and when you reached your allotment,
you ran out:

No more spoken,
Or even thought.


I used to wonder
that I might be the only
savourer of words.

Until I had children of my own,
who 'Ooo!' in delight
when meeting a new one.

And roll it around
in their own mouths,
trying out the feel
and shape
and sounds.

And so I serve them
a steady meal of appellations,
where we all feast
on the flavor of words.

From Day 12:

-Janin Wise

Paper thin moon,
ancient and frail,
like yellowed lace
more dust than cloth.

I see you sitting heavy 
in the inky black sky,
dour and world weary.

I wonder 
that you persevere 
through all 
you've witnessed.

That it's burden 
doesn't tear you 
from the sky.

And speculate 
that perhaps...
It does.

As you spend
three days
fully watching, 
in hope that things have changed.

...And the other
five and twenty,
desperately turning away.

From Day 15:

The Rippling Wave
-Janin Wise

I find myself enamored 
of the way the breeze 
blows through the tall grass, 
seed heads bobbing 
in a land bound wave.

Where wildflowers 
dip and dive 
like jumping fish, 
and bubble bees hover 
like fishing gulls.

I love the way 
it shimmers in sunlight, 
almost like a white foam
rolled under emerald green waves 
as it ripples across the field.

I stop,
eyes closed, 
face upturned 
to be kissed by that sunlight, 
smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

Arms wide as the breeze 
just begins to brush my skin, 
deep breaths, 
almost expecting sea salt air,
being blessed instead with spring aromas:

Delicate hints 
of blooms untouched by bees, 
and the heady, 
earthy warm scent 
of grasses slowly turning into hay.

From Day 22:
A Haiku to celebrate Earth Day

Earth day once a year...
How quaint when you consider
ALL our days are Earth's.

And today's:

Today's Divinity
-Janin Wise

Today's divinity comes on wing,
through those that flutter and peck 
amongst last year's fallen leaves, 
twitters and hops a cultivated dance in camouflage.

Today's divinity comes on wing,
Outstretched feathered fingertips, 
reflected against shiny man's glass,
reaching for and briefly touching 
forever in the blueness of the open sky.

Today's divinity comes on wing,
Thin wind ridden pine branch 
and a small fat fluff of beige brown feathers,
Completely content to be still and savour,
while the world moves around it.

Today's divinity comes on wing,
And an empty nest 
nestled in the hanging ruins of a once proud ivy,
Left to be that a young family could grow-
And so they have.

Looking forward to seeing what the remaining seven days have in store (:

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