April, with its reputation for cruelty and taxes. What better time to celebrate poetry?
The month is chalk-full of events, including readings galore. On the Poetic Asides blog, Robert Lee Brewer again hosts the Poem-a-Day challenge. And Michael Spence has a lovely, taut poem in today’s Seattle Times.
Over on Facebook, Dana Guthrie Martin is again hosting FaBoStaMe (Facebook Status Message), in which one writes a poem by updating the Facebook status every minute for 30 minutes. Without being able to back and revise.
My minutes got a little stretchy (I think I’d get so excited about writing the next line that I’d forget to click Condividi–which I think means Share). But here in its rough, raw status state is my effort:
How bridal the veils that rain silver out of today’s gray sky,
water slim as feathers from some slender bird
migrating, shreds shed from the clouds that shelve the sky
a book of words for weather, a mirror of the lake, and the lake’s name,
a reign of cormorants and coots, wings folded
in April’s sodden grace, proof that floating
between worlds marries them both, the deep air, the cool waves
a green beatitude–
When you dream of birds, the night swims around you.
I wake to the sound of horses, hooves pounding away from the morning,
silver bridles jangling back through vales of sleep.
Thin whicker, the splash in a stream,
mist coating the minutes softly, the dapple of water on water,
a galloping as April thickens its cloak
and the fat robins wake us before dawn opens its throat.
Take the reins
down the scattered shore
and feel the stones, the young blades of grass,
the willow’s skirt sweeping, a green shower.
Erasing, drawing again,
the rain writes its history and the lake
is a palimpsest, a shifting parchment
making its stories up as this low-pressure front
shatters in the west. You can’t count
on anything today, not even a storm
can linger long enough for coffee.
From the sea of our bed we can see four panes
of weather hemmed by old lace
and the neighbors’ birch that dances
without being asked. Lean in
and let the rain river on alone.
Every month can be poetry month, but let’s live it large this month.
Cheers to you!