April is National Poetry Month, so last week I invited newsletter subscribers (What, you haven’t signed up yet? See what you’re missing out on!) to share poems they’ve written. Most of us have written poems somewhere along the line, probably in elementary school, perhaps in high school or possibly in a creative writing course in college.
I don’t know exactly why writing poetry feels so challenging for many of us. As with many things, perhaps we make it too hard. After all, poetry is one of the purest and most rule-free forms of creative expression. I hope to try my hand it again sometime soon, and I hope you will too.
Now, it’s time to share some poems!
The first poem is by Carol who has published a wonderful book of poetry, which I have by the way. Her book is called Metastatic Madness
B R O K E N
Like the clock in the hall,
It stands so straight and tall,
But chimes twice when it’s one,
Deep inside the damage is done.
No matter that it’s an heirloom,
Its headed for the trash room.
Like my childhood china doll,
The victim of an errant ball.
Once wore a wide-brimmed hat,
Head shattered by a youthful bat.
She lies discarded in a heap,
Destined for a hole six feet deep.
No longer strong in the saddle,
I’ve been thrust into a battle.
My invisible scars are all inside,
Flesh weak, spirit lost its pride.
Cancer runs pretty deep,
Can’t shake it off even when asleep.
Incurable illness is a game-changer,
My life keeps getting stranger.
I wake at night in a cold sweat,
To whom do I owe this debt?
I feel so horribly off-track,
Desperately want to send it back!
No more wishing and hoping,
Get on with adjusting and coping.
Perhaps I could fill in every crack,
Unlike the doll in the discard sack.
Get the clock to chime again,
Live in a peaceful state of Zen.
The second poem is from Eileen, aka Woman in the Hat.
There are days
fatigue sits on my shoulders
its fat ass crushing my bones
My skeleton disintegrates
into tiny fragments leaving my flesh
like a rumpled unmade bed
There are days
I feel like a stuffed doll
strewn across the cold tiled floor
Abandoned, lifeless, lumpy
peeks out from ripped seams
my brain shuts down
as if the bay fog rolls through
Its lacy wisps wind and twist
past each hemisphere
like a curtain falls on the light of day
It’s the kind of worn-out tired
an old woman feels
when she sleeps
in the chair
in the middle of day
I could do that too
Right in the chair
Here at work
I could tip over and crumple
My keyboard a pillow that presses my cheek
leaving imprints of E and W and 2
But I don’t
I must not
So I wobble through
like a bobblehead
on shaky springs
until I go home
and sleep in my chair
The third poem is from Dear Daughter, blogger at That Mutt.
… when my old dog moves so slowly, when I want to leave him behind,
I think of all those years, thousands of miles by now,
when I couldn’t keep up with my young dog,
and he always waited, never left me behind.
Hope and Fireflies
Thank you for reading these wonderful poems and thank you to those who shared them! More poems and/or links welcome in the comments!
Do you ever write poetry? Why or why not?
Do you have a favorite poet?
Why do you think writing poetry is often intimidating?
Featured image by David Bonta via Flickr used under CC licencing.