In keeping with November and NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), where participants attempt to write a 50,000 word novel over the course of the month, April is NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. I’m thinking about participating again to see if I can write more than the 12 poems I did in 2014. Are any of you planning on doing that?

April 1 also marks the start of the 100 Day project, which I participated in in 2015, with 100 days of fiber art. Wait, that’s not entirely accurate. In 2015, the 100 day project started on April 1, I found out about it from someone I follow on Instagram, and followed along through The Great Discontent. Since then, I think there have been a number of 100 day project efforts, some of them even by lone people challenging themselves. In any case, that’s on my mind as well. I don’t think I could manage 100 days of poetry, but another 100 days of fiber art might be fun and interesting and inspiring.

Back to poetry. I know none of you signed up to read my poetry. I have to say there’s nothing worse than surprise bad poetry (and no one thinks their poetry is bad), but mine really isn’t that bad – I started out as a Creative Writing major focused on poetry before coming to my senses and switching to Rhetoric (in the classical sense, not the way the media uses the word today). So. I guess to warn you all that I may do NaPoWriMo and I may start posting poems, here’s one (unedited) from my 2014 effort.

Early April

The rivers are liquid again
but the puddles still freeze in the mud on the driveway.
In the morning, I stomp on the air bubbles frozen in them
while I wait for the bus to take me to school.
I make the rounds in the yard every day:
the crocuses planted by the foundation are up,
but the daffodils by the stone wall are not.
The lily of the valley bed
still has snow: it’s in the shadow of the house,
but each day it melts a little so that last year’s leaves,
bowed down under the weight of winter, are slowly revealed.
This is just the beginning.
But there will be an ending too:
after the rain overfills the brook and the pond,
the weight of the water will break the dam and my heart.