National Poetry Month: The return journey

April, it seems, crept up on me once again this year. March arrived, dumped several buckets of ice and cold onto my head, then swiftly left the way it came. But now it is April, and National Poetry Month, and I fully intend on writing a million more poems this year. Feel about that however you wish. I'm forcing myself to do it whether you like it or not.

Statistically speaking... I have probably written close to 2500 poems during my life. It's likely I started writing poetry at about the age of 5, but I don't remember those poems. I do remember a few that I wrote at the age of 8. It was around the same time I started writing books. If that makes me sound like some crazy literary prodigy--I promise you, I was not. Am not. I was just a loner with a huge imagination. Sometimes that makes people famous, doesn't it? I'll let you know how it all works out.

In the meantime, I have a whole year behind me with poetry material, not to mention all the things that might happen this month. There is a sort of torturous beauty in seeing how we change as people in just one year, especially now that social media can potentially keep track of every milestone, every wound. I appreciate it enough for now, but I hope someday when I'm old that I don't regret it all. I hope I might be able to appreciate it more, that we will all realize our memories are worth the effort of cataloging them in various forms. I believe, at least, that the poetry will be worth it. 

For starters, I can't sleep tonight, and I had a weird dream last night that it still causing me trouble. So we'll begin with that. And since it's already April 4th I'll pull a few poems from my other blog, which is mostly a secret. The first two are both about dreams. The third (Dear Universe) is probably my current favorite.

And yes, in case you were actually wondering, all of these poems are my property and were written by me and if you steal them and make money on them or use them as toilet paper or feed them to the birds I will do everything in my power to come after you and make you suffer like a poetry-thief should suffer. Amen.

The Ride to the Airport. (4/4/14)

When Harry met Sally

their mouths were full of snark

--as were ours,

when we were young,

and the dream was new,

still in the dark.

When I needed saving

you called me from the south.

I was to meet you

but you were on your way.

The secret was already out.

When even I am sleeping

and the pull cannot be real

I believe I'll be flying

until my waking eyes

break the deal.

Cinderella Says. (3/28/14)

A dream is a wish your heart makes

without stipulations or magic lamps.

It just does what it’s told.

It’s a place where

dead women console their living friends

and former lovers let you see their faces,

just before they turn their back to you

one final time.

And that woman made me a cup of tea;

she tsked when I didn’t say thank-you;

she asked me, “Did you love him?”

as if he was already gone. I said

“I did, I did,” but couldn’t remember his name

and in my sleep I wept

in all the ways my waking self wouldn't.

Dear Universe. (3/17/14)

Dear universe,

I forgot how big you were.

I forgot the expense

of living.

I abandoned the wayward thought

which dragged me

toward understanding

my former self was invincible

and would follow me forever.

But you kill those persons 

we have been

because they are lesser minds

with inconsequential hearts,

which gently leads me

to believe

truthfully some souls 

are not worth saving

because they no longer

are.

Do you ever keep your promise. (2/8/14)

Do you ever keep your promise

to trust someone who can keep promises?

Do you let it slide

until it avalanches

and words lose all meaning?

Do you know what I mean?

I cannot trust

you

if there are no trustworthy people

you are entrusted to.