National Poetry Month Celebration 2019 - Post Poems Here!

[Gyppo]

Dave: love the image of someone 'reading with all her might'.  Wonderful.

AJ:  Is that song available anywhere to listen to?

Gyppo

[ajduclos]

Dave: love the image of someone 'reading with all her might'.  Wonderful.

AJ:  Is that song available anywhere to listen to?

Gyppo

Hey Gyppo - Ain't ready To Die is actually available on YouTube.  A friend of mine put a few songs I recorded at my kitchen table on his YouTube site. 
If you type into your browser "Aimé Duclos - The Kitchen Table Series" it should show up.  Click on the link then you can search the entries for "Ain't Ready To Die". 
Unfortunately you get my less than deep voice - this song needs Johnny Cash, RIP
Enjoy!!!
Aj       

[Lecram06]

Triolet 12

We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
Together, in coolness we forage.
We hurry oft compelled by our moods.
We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
We measure our bliss by the tonnage.
We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
Together, in coolness we forage.

[Lecram06]

Tracy - Do publish your collection. You surprised me with the rhymes. I am still smiling. 

Indar - I will not foray into the world of paper snowflakes after your admonition. 

Dave - and in the middle you insert the call for compassion like a thunder bolt.

Marcel

[ajduclos]

Triolet 12

We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
Together, in coolness we forage.
We hurry oft compelled by our moods.
We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
We measure our bliss by the tonnage.
We enter the Temple of Whole Foods.
Together, in coolness we forage.

Marcel - another surprising trioliet !!!  I agree with Tracy - a chapbook coming?
 

[Lecram06]

Colm - I get it, this wearing out and running down at 80 as I eye the pencil and eraser on my desk. 

Gyppo - Your first line puts the reader on notice: nothing but raw human experience here.

You both invit further reflection. thanks. Marcel

[binx]

4/12 poem

When Night Comes

stars swarm, collide
and I stand on my deck—

I do not enter the grass,
my yard full of shards.

by George

[Tracy Mitchell]

#12

[Tracy Mitchell]

Nice George!

[lisaeagle65]

SUNDAY

The sky spits snow again
on this cloudy Sunday.
A bay mare and paint gelding
stand motionless in the corner
of a rusty pipe corral
in drying, sticky mud
day after day.
Heads hang like heavy apples
on flexing limbs.
They stare at a half eaten
bale of moldy hay.

Perhaps they are old
and somewhere a broke old man
could tell stories of his favorites.
His eyes would wander back in time
when the bay or paint was just a colt.
His crackly voice would gather pride
as he recalls the days
of his best cow horse and friend.
He would wonder now at the kind of life
they have and hope it's good.
He would wipe away an escaping tear
at the memory of the sale.

It was a cloudy Sunday
and the sky spit snow.