National Poetry Month Celebration 2019 - Post Poems Here!

[Vaughn Neeld]

Day 7

Silent sentinels on the mews
stand watch over all.

Breathlessly we await
the harbinger's news.

Then overnight the message appears

in the full, white blooms of 
         ornamental pears.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Vaughn

-- Blooming pears

I learn a new word - "mews". I Thought you didn't mean a cat reference, so I had to look it up.
Cheers.

T

[indar]

Vaughn,

Sometimes I miss living in a land of extreme seasons--spring fever can be so wonderful. The overnight appearances of those first harbingers--thrilling. 

[ajduclos]

Day 7

On My Father's Birthday, April 7, 1913 - RIP 

Tomorrow I'll Still Be Seventy-One  

Things aching and breaking
Stuff sagging and drooping
Parts dangling and hanging
And flopping and flapping
Only muscle you got left
Is between your ears
And that one's fading fast
Cause tomorrow... I'll still be seventy-one 

All those birthday wishes
       Do what you want to do
       Have a wonderful day
       Enjoy the rest of your life
       It's your day to play
Like so many broken dishes
Won't do me any good today
Like lots of reminisces
And so many unscratched itches
It is what it is
Today is just another day
And tomorrow... I'll still be seventy-one 

What's past is past
What's done is done
No need for a recast
No longer on the run
Wouldn't go back even if I could
Took a whole lot to get here
Lots explored and lots endured
And maybe through the process
Through the joys and the nonsense
Maybe I've sorta matured
Or at least just partly cured
So after yet one more year
Today it is very clear
Tomorrow... I'll still be seventy-one
  

[indar]

Aj,

I've noticed something--the change of a decade, from 69 to 70 for instance, seems like a big hurdle---more than just another year. But having survived the sudden advance in aging, time marches on, no reprieve for being such a good soldier

[ajduclos]

Yes, Indar, indeed those are the ones that we struggle thru, well I certainly do.  So single years, whatever... but they inexorably add up.  I've decided, like Clint Eastwood, to not "let the old man in"............

[Dave]

Tracy your last poem is a gem. Fun reminder Indar of john yamrus who i have not heard about for years. Nicevpoem.

[Gyppo]

I've let myself get a little bit ahead because today's been a long day and I may well fall asleep before midnight.

NAPO 8 - 2019

Night by the lake

Dad took me night fishing
and we sat on a bench.
A bench which is still there today,
or else a well weathered replica, 
some sixty years later.

We had sandwiches and a flask of cocoa,
which Dad probably hoped would make me sleepy.
No way!  We were having an adventure.

As darkness fell two swans flew in and settled. 
A chill mist crept in and hid the luminous float.
Dad re-rigged the tackle to fish floating crust.

The perfect bait for night feeding carp
which we could hear 'glooping' in the dark,
feeding along the margins.
They were used to foraging left over crusts,
from the daytime duck feeders,
wind-driven to moor against the downwind side.

We fished so close we could almost see the bread,
a ghostly rectangle, floating in silence.

Occasionally there would be a shallow ripple
as some bronzed torpedo glided by unseen,
each of them doubtless 'a real monster'.

But they declined our offerings,
and my fingers on the line grew numb.
As the wind blew stronger
and the night grew colder Dad,
hardened by the Arctic Convoys
opened his Donkey Jacket and pulled me in,
his 'little man' who'd thought he was hiding his shivers.

The scent of wool, Old Holborn Golden Virginia,
dried cement from his 'Civvy' job,
diesel from the dumper truck,
and reassurance.

Around midnight we drank cocoa, 
'Kai' in Dad's sailor talk, and ate doorstop sarnies,
and Dad said that was what kept The Royal Navy afloat.

Being a literal minded kid I queried this,
"Surely the ships had something to do with it?"

"They played their part, Son.  But hot Kai,
in big mugs, stopped us freezing to death.
That stuff still tasted good even with a dash of 'oggin', 
ocean, added on deck watches."

I held out until about 3 AM when Dad,
to my secret relief, pretended he was cold
and suggested we went home.

He smoked one more skinny roll up,
'Just to give the fish a last chance',
then we sacrificed what was left of our bait
as a hook-free and scattered offering,
"Because that's the right thing to do, Son."

At the caravan Mum stirred when we went in.
Dad 'poked up the fire' in the stove,
made us all another cup of Kai 
and we thawed out slowly before settling down.

Mum commented about Dad being still cold 
as he slipped in alongside her.
I, curled up in my little bunk, 
almost burst with pride when I heard his reply.

"Not surprised, he's a tough little bugger."

Gyppo

[ajduclos]

Ah Gyppo - soooo beautiful and so well written... too much to say, the words don't come... Thanks !!!!!!!

[indar]

April 8

Sphere in Winter

My daughter keeps a beehive in her yard
on the hard edge of the Great Plains,
continental center. Alberta Clippers 
blow arctic air down through Canada,
ice freezes to the trees,
wind plays eerie music in the weather-stripping.

By day, a crystal circle encompasses the sun,
cancels out its heat,
by night, moon-bright sheets of snow
flow like water on the ground.

Inside their wood box, worker bees protect their Queen,
form a sphere around her, shivering their wings.
If you stand nearby
you can hear them buzz, generating honey-heat.
They rotate, warming at the center, falling back
to admit their sisters.

This last, a hard, hard winter, the hive fell silent.
My daughter lifted out the frozen-solid ball of bees,
cleaned the hive, went in her house and cried.



https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alberta_clipper

https://www.timeanddate.com/astronomy/o ... menon.html

Reclaiming my old habit of posting with links