National Poetry Month Celebration 2019 - Post Poems Here!

[Colm Roe]

4/9 poem

Barometric Pressure

Barely broken, this April
small town sleeps
among awakening grass.

Coming snow will make little noise,
much like those rare moments
in the middle of a quiet life.

By George

Beautiful. Skilfully chosen words fall effortlessly in my mind as I read. The last S is superb. 

[Tracy Mitchell]

Dave you are simply on fire! Love reading your stuff.

Actually, I love reading all of the NaPo offerings, so much rich textured reading here.

[Gyppo]

 NAPO 10 - 2019

Valhalla could be a problem

I have no problem with being fed roasted pork,
freshly carved from a carcass on a spit,
by an attentive maiden.
Sounds good so far.

But the horns of mead or ale could be awkward.
Warriors, traditionally, aren't teetotal.
I can use sword, shield, axe and dagger
but I'm no good as a drunk.

Maybe they'll make allowances,
find room in the hall for a bard,
for a storyteller with weapons skills,
willing to walk the walk when needed.

But those formidable blonde women
with Junoesque figures, ice blue eyes,
and long braids simply don't float my boat.
"Sorry, Love, but that's how it is."

Surely there must be some other Valkyries,
short, with long and unfettered dark hair,
deep brown eyes sparkling with mischief,
and a quiet little smile of hidden promise.

I'm in no rush to find out,
but I'd like to see a prospectus.
If there's no neat little brunettes
I'll just have to live forever.

Gyppo 
 

[Colm Roe]

30 ways to die.
#10

A letter arrived, a surprise
they're like hen's teeth nowadays.

Not your average communication.
A manilla envelope, inside
bright orange paper
hand written, badly,
but it might always have been.
 
I wasn't sure where she was being held,
no reply received to the email I sent
a few months after her daughter was killed.

No real reference to the act
how could she?
'Dear Colm, I'm doing fine now after I....'

I often laugh,
when people almost scream
'But you shouldn't eat that,
it's full of chemicals!'
It's what we are, consume and are made of!

An imbalance murdered her daughter
strangled the life, from
a seven year old girl
and most, from her 45 year old father.

She's innocent with bloody hands,
not the 'neighbour I didn't really talk to'
just a girl I know
kind and gentle.

Her letter's address
Unit 15, Mental Hospital etc.
cuts.
 

[ajduclos]

Colm...
Yet another sweet sensitive writing of a loss of life............ every one has moved the world around me.........

[Colm Roe]

Thanks aj.
This is another real one. The letter arrived yesterday.
And she is one of the loveliest people you'll ever meet   

[Sharon Leigh]

Gyppo, charming homage to type! And yes re: iridology, I've recently learnt of it myself and just had to try to work it into a poem.

Colm, are these all true?! sad if so!





Guilt in Vane


I hold the small hot bird, fingers a gentle cage
around soft trembling. There is a trust
of sorts, he knows I never cause him pain,
he never bites. I know I must again
commit cliche. The snips sharp, the calamus
free of blood. I do the deed.

His eye is the size of a seed pearl. Still, I look away.
Somewhere his brothers fill the Aussie sky, flock
by millions. I trim conservative, I tell myself. He still
has lift, horizon, landing; we are his flock, he needs us.
The evening sky is melon through the window,
lark and swallow dip and swirl, dark silhouettes.



.

[Deb]

These poems are wonderful. I'll go through and offer encouragement for each but I'm nine days behind, so must catch up.

Here is my first, quickly thrown together contribution:



Tombstone

In a movie scene
camera pans down to a tombstone...  
“Mother”
scrolled in granite.

I’m shocked by my indignance.
They were,
she was,
we are
so much more
than a single word
depicted in stone.

Recollections of my grandmother’s accomplishments
before children ruled her life
and the death of one
sealed her fate.

Beckoned memories of
her wit and cleverness,
Mom was damaged
and lovely.
At times she was my friend. 

A single word regurgitated
all I was before
and since,
all I ever dreamed of being...
a singer, a teacher, an actress, an artist, a traveler, a storyteller
and,  "Mother." 

Five seconds to alter a moment
for the little girl in me who dreamed
of Daddy’s approval,
Prince Charming’s kiss,
becoming the light in her children’s eyes

with only the word, “Mother” carved in stone. 

Not nearly enough
to describe a life
from beginning to end.


~Deborah Manning-Galarza 
      April 9, 2019

[Tracy Mitchell]

Deb!!!
Welcome.

[Deb]

Deb!!!
Welcome.

Thank you, Tracy.

I appreciate the reminder. This is truly a good work out for all of us.

Can I post more than one a day until I catch up, or is one a day the limit?