Released

for Antira

The flat, thin envelope bears the news:

Nineteen birds have flown their cages,

Each singing more beautifully

Than the last,

Winging it for the light

That comes

After the longest night.

Bird number twenty

Shall dance

To greet the dawn.

Air and Water

last night I dreamed

that I

alone was responsible

for providing air and water

to a festival of people

who were clueless

that these things were not provided

as effortlessly as the music

that played all night.

I overslept my 5am alarm -

I panicked

when I woke – I

blamed nobody,

because nobody

told me it was my job

to ensure the survival

of this species,

nobody.

somehow I found

the person in charge

(I don’t remember her name now, but

she was very calm), saying

don’t worry

all you have to do

is –

and she walked with me

from one pavilion to the next

showing me how to give

what everybody takes

for granted –

so freely

that nobody ever knows

the difference.

Day 30: Here's to Us! (Reverso)

This is a reverso I wrote in honor of the group of friends I have been sharing poetry with this month. A reverso is two poems in one - one read top to bottom, the other read bottom to top. Both are presented below, so you don't need to rotate your screen. :)

Bravo!

Over 400 poems

we have written

together,

this month alone –

What a fine use of words!

Poems

about life, about spring (or fall), about

Poetry.

“Time” was,

perhaps,

“Once upon a time” –

Yes, we wrote our own stories.

Naked, truthful.

All we had to give

we shared with each other –

Alone

in April,

together in poetry.

~~ and in reverse ~~

Together in poetry

(in April

alone)

we shared with each other

all we had to give –

naked, truthful.

Yes, we wrote our own stories.

Once upon a time,

perhaps,

Time was

Poetry –

about life, about spring (or fall), about

Poems.

What a fine use of words!

This month alone,

together,

we have written

over 400 poems.

Bravo!

Day 29: Poetic Counsel

In the inkpot of life, the poet’s quill dips deep.

Fear not the rise and fall of time,

Of passion, of ego, of loss – Feel

Until you are like to burst with the feeling of it.

Then write, and feel again.

Poetry will keep you awake at night,

If you let it. Let it. There is no better bedfellow.

May the night tease your secret

Words from you like a lover, asking – no, demanding –

All you have to give. Give it.

And demand the same in return.

They say that you have truly learned

A language when you think,

When you dream, wholly within it.

May you learn the language

Of poetry this well,

And swim in its waters like a fish

Glinting in the sunlight.

Day 28: Once And For All

Whenever I think of you

I wish I hadn’t.

You are a chapter in my history book

I wish I somebody had torn out
Before I read it;

A short song

With an unfortunate chorus

That repeats itself unbidden

In my inner ear

When no one else is listening;

A darkened door

Far behind me

Down a bright corridor –

I want to forget what’s behind it.

I want back all those minutes

You have stolen from my peace,

All those thoughts I’ve wasted

Trying not to think about you.

Let these words now

Lay your memory to rest –

I am tired of thinking of you

And wishing I hadn’t.

Day 27: Disillusionment

Today,

pulling books at random

from the untidy shelves, searching

for some inspiration, somewhere,

I came across a child’s ring.

Plastic, purple, gawdy and horrible,

a giant violet rose perched on a broken band –

Twist and it lights up red!

I shuddered at the thought

of what children love these days,

then slipped it on my finger

as if it could make me invisible,

make time slow down,

restore my innocence,

or at least help me crack a smile.

But no.

It just sat there,

glowing annoyingly,

heavy on my finger and my mind.

I sighed and took it off again,

tossed it in the bin

and went on with the afternoon,

still fully visible.

Day 26: When The Poet Sleeps

When the poet sleeps,

what then?

The other mind picks up

The pen,

Dips into the ink,

And then….

Chaos, ALL

the letters      a-jumble, no

Rhyme-or-Reason

(but a whole lot of rep-rep-rep-

etition)

The meter is empty, the metaphor

Has  f l o w n  the coop –

And where have all the chickens gone?

They’re scratching at the ground

Searching for words

While the poet sleeps