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.
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.
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