Water Music

    I want music

    like water

    fluid, smooth

    and deep enough

    to drown in.

     Image from Wiki free images: Bach Violin Sonata No. 1 in G minor

For April, National Poetry Month, Day 13.  

You Never Know

Despise not small things, either for evil or good, for a look may work thy ruin, or a word create thy wealth. - A spark is a little thing, yet it may kindle the world.  – Martin Farquhar Tupper

when Kate comes home

she falls asleep on the couch

every night

with the TV on.

In the morning,

I turn off the set, pick up her

plate, Kleenex, water;

Otis wakes her up.

Fifteen pounds of

of super-charged, tail wagging,

face licking, fur

planted on her chest

is surprisingly a way

she (mostly) likes to wake up.

I bring her coffee and tell her

“budge up, ya great lump”

and we giggle, because

we read all the Harry Potter’s together,

loved them.

Then we talk.

Last year, for a little while,

I got it in my head that

I resented picking up

bringing coffee,

every morning,

Then one day, from the next, room

I overheard her tell her friend,

“I love going home –

my mom brings me coffee,

every morning

it’s great.

You just never know

what will make a memory.

PAD, NaPoWriMo Day 12

The Cliche Garden of Day 11

I water my cliché garden

with the tears of dead poets

I keep in my secret cupboard,

next to the Hallmark cards.

And on a fine night it’s quite a sight,

standing under the full, spring moon,

to behold the organic metaphors

pushing their way up through the earth.

I have a row of hearts and souls and love

and another of candle light and moonbeams,

and finally the row of vile vials

full of all manner of nastiness

all sprouting from dirt as black as sin,

or tar,

or coal.

This is for day 11 of April, Poem a Day.  But I'm linking it nowhere, because it's kind of stinky. 

Noir

    Head On A Stem, 'noir' by Odilon Redon  

Under the Milkweed Moon

frost bites at empty husks,  

strewn like runes

in a circle

under cold, beautiful  stars.

I turn from the window

and pull the blanket

up, around my shoulders

as I nestle into you.

And then we send our spooning dreams

out to the Milkweed Moon.

This is for all the toads in the IGRT.  Joy has asked us to write something in resonse to one of the beautiful images by Odilon Redon.  Click on the link to read more about this artist and more responses to his work.

Day 9

There is

emptiness

nothing can fill,

except love of self.

Day #9 of the Poem a Day for April...excruciating!  Linked to NaPoWriMo and PAD.

55

When I go to leave a comment

google tells me,

“choose an identity”

I don’t know if I can fit

such a big idea

inside my head.

Who would I be?

A circus clown? Nope, afraid of clowns

Astronaut?  Nope, afraid of heights

Secret agent?  Nope, hate guns

Novelist?  Nope – I only write 55 

This 55 is for Shay in her lovely Word Garden.

Eye Site

Sometimes if we look

 too long at the trees

we forget the stars,

forget the seas.

When our eyes are filled

with the  everyday,

of  solid pigment

and heavy clay

we forget there is more

than the scene before

our face.

That’s why we read,

that’s why we dream,

it’s our salvation,

our grace,

our imagination.

This is for PAD and NaPoWriMo on Day 8 of the April Poem a Day challenge.