Finding inspiration for National Poetry Month

Last year I failed the 30/30 challenge of writing a poem a day for National Poetry Month by starting late and only getting through about 15 poems. I don’t do well writing in the car and that’s where I seem to spend most of my time in April as we bring Poetry Alive! to schools in a frenzy for the month.

This year I started at Doo-Nanny in my little nook above the main stage until the typewriter was rained out while helping save Resistance Force and the other electronic equipment and instruments on stage from the storm. I gave away the few poems I managed to type before the storm without mass producing them for all on the interwebs. Some sayings are too powerful to simply drop them into the general pool of thought anyway.

I didn’t have much time to be sad about the typewriter malfunction anyway since the Screaming Js joined me on the upper deck to dance the night away and sing the sun up instead. When I got the typewriter home, my roommate gave it some TLC and it’s back in working order again, but it’s a bit awkward to carry everywhere I go.

However, I found time last weekend to sneak in a poem the old fashioned way with pen and ink. In fact, I reminded myself that my favorite place to write really is sitting at the bar while conversation is bubbling and the band is setting up. This past Saturday I discovered that strange pocket of calm while the storm danced on the horizon right before it all began.

Here are the couple of “doo-dads” (as Dorothy Parker liked to call them) from the book so far this month:

Note to self

Many hands to lift you
Will you continue to soar
touching down so lightly
so as to barely make a sound?
There is nothing you can’t do now,
but what will you choose?

*****

Flow

Spinning circles
Dropping into now
Among many other nows
All the rapid fire river
Splashing over rough spots
Washing it all away.
What was it that snagged the movement?
Eddying stagnant pools
Eventually wash on past the sediment
Sentimentally left behind
Rushing on to merge as one
Until the heat of a star
Calls the individual molecules
Skyward.

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