Day 1
Fools
come down to the
water,
step out on the ice
forget the signs
of spring.
come onto the rocks,
wear your Sunday
shoes
ignore the seaweed
wet there
come on over to my
side
in perfect agreement
no matter what
you know
fools and foolish
ways
no way to stop them.
Day 2
Going
Walden
Solitude exposes the nerve,
Raises up ghosts. May Sarton
You decide to go it
alone,
pack only three days
of supplies,
think going
Walden a sensible plan.
Inner voices warn
your city side
grasp what you can’t
know:
Jangled nerves, raw
meat on the bone.
Dark nights without
moon.
A fall of will
overtakes romance
as every nasty ghost
comes knocking.
There’s no joy in
your pencil tonight,
every blank page
raises nightmares.
These woods are not
ready for your visit,
haven’t cleaned out
their dark winter
deeds. The trees
groan all night
in fierce repentance.
What folly
you commit to
interrupt
when it from darkness
alters, is reborn.
Blow out the lamp and
be sensible.
Rattle your beads as
a talisman, wait
for the shapeshifting
wood
to become whole, to
open leafy arms
and welcome
strangers.
Day 3
Sunshine Super Girl
In some circles, or
in the air
where magic lives and
flies and sings,
where Sunshine Super
Girl was born,
and all the angels
grew their wings,
legends grow tall
like stately elms.
And in our sleep
while ere we dream
of fairy dust and
witches' brews
and hatch our foolish
plans and schemes.
But mortal men and
women, we
can only half achieve
our ends,
for we are poor and
limited.
So what’s the remedy
to mend
the dangers, strife
and worldly woes?
It’s the music and
the poetry
of Sunshine Super
Girl we need
to save us from
calamity.
So sing along, and
make some rhymes
and smell the flowers
on your way,
ask only for some
simple verse
to brighten up your
darkest day.
Tyger, Tyger burns in
the night,
Raven keeps saying never
more.
We hear the fly buzz
on the wall;
We hear the rap upon
the door.
We wonder where the
wild things are
that lurk the edges
of our sleep,
that fright us out of
peaceful realms
and frazzle us while
counting sheep.
Fear not the shadows
of the dark
or monsters lurking
in the park,
for Sunshine Super
Girl’s nearby
to wake you safe when
morning’s nigh.
Day 4
The End of Rain
If it never rains
again
if water never gushes
the banks of river,
or washes
up on the shore at
high tide, and tides
stop rushing at all,
and fish
start dying for lack
of, will we give
some of
ourselves, a fraction of our 70%
to make the ocean
whole? If not we,
then who will tend
and save
the sea from its slow
burning? If rain
cannot come down, or
will not come,
and all of us forget
our tears
are made of sea
water, who will cry?
Day 5
Affectionately
known as Hooker’s Lips, Psychotria elata with it’s colorful red flowers attracts
many pollinators including
butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds.
Also known in some circles as Mick Jagger’s
lips, or as the Hot Lips Plant. The plant looks just like a pair of bright red lips.
Psychotria Elata
Whose lips I’ve kissed and where and when
perhaps it’s just the garden lips
I crave
to set upon the hearth or sill
in vases or in bowls,
to brighten up a dreary day of
nothing
but dim and gray and gloom.
Ask the tiny hummingbird, the
butterfly
looking for a kiss of pollen to
survive
if these red lips are to be banned
for their bold & sassy
presentation.
On Mick’s songster face, we love
the lips
from whence his songs derive,
but mock the female on the street
whose kiss might come on a bit too
full.
Once red lips were all the rage
on those dramatic women
of the stage and screen, but now
it’s make-up free we crave, and
judge
some colors too extreme. For me,
I’m hanging with the bees, see
bright
red lips not a blight, but
attraction
—
for survival.
Carmine. Scarlet. Blood red.
Day 6
Just So
I make the rules. You’d
better
follow just so, or
off with some body part
(your head, an arm or
two, your left eyeball?)
This new rule: no
sitting in my chair,
is not capricious;
it’s a matter of respect I say.
The dent in the
cushion I worked
to make, to fit just
so at the end
of the day when my
body’s done
its part to benefit
society or make a dent
in the family chores,
or (sigh)
to sag into when the
weight of day —
just too much to
bear. So do not sit
where I desire to be
and break this rule,
or there’ll be no end
to the rebuke.
I make the rules, so
let it be known just so:
This is my chair, get out, be gone, scram!
Day 7
(take a prior poem
and randomly cut out text, leaving the white space... see what new poem emerges; to read
the original and compare, go to March poems, Day 15...week 2)
Malevolent
did Bentley see
in his lens? the lacy flakes
he froze them
for winter, a pretty
grumbling over shoveling
alike he said,
Conceived
Nature’s killer queen
colorless brutal falls
we
suspect
her malevolence.
39 million
atomic bombs.
She’s a clever
like a prism
white and
soft,
freezing
fire, snuggle
watch destruction
fall .
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