I'm not managing to write a poem every single day, but I've written more this month already than in the past several years. In case you don't keep up with me on Twitter or Identi.ca (see sidebar) here are the first batch:
April 1:
Thirty 140-character poems in thirty minutes
April 3:
Cleaning for guests, who'll bring their own forgotten
dustballs, cobwebs of expectations, amused surprise at discoveries under beds.
April 6:
White birch chalkmarks on the dark forest, thumb-smudged
snow in the deepest shadows.
April 7:
Wrinkled golden beets, glowing like Tibetans squinting in
the Himalayan sun.
April 8:
Holy Week. A veil of snow blows toward the roadside cross;
recently-pollarded trees raise their handless arms: a row of punished thieves.
April 9:
St. Lawrence lapping at the bare knees of island trees; I
worry for the little deer of the Isles de Boucherville.
April 10:
In stony darkness, the altar is stripped of its linen,
vessels; the black-clad priest washes the dark wood with deliberate strokes.
April 11:
A slantwise tear-filled rain whips the bare field, but
willows toss their golden branches like the Magdalene’s hair: spring tomorrow.
My favorite is April 7th--the wrinkled beets--terrific!
Posted by: mary mccloskey | April 11, 2009 at 07:18 PM