Sunday, April 30, 2017

Reviewing April PAD: Best of the Month?

As I mentioned, I was very pleased to be able to write 54 poems during National Poetry Month. I found that starting my writing time first thing in the morning was the best strategy, before the drudge of chores and the (demanding) blessing of caring for young granddaughters began. There's also a lot to be said for writing while you're still fresh and rested. Most days I had something at least started by 8:30 a.m. (Maybe I should continue that strategy.) I also found that I was leaning heavily toward humorous poetry and light verse throughout the month. I think it's because of the dire political events of the last 6 months or so - I feel a need to laugh to keep from crying.  When I wrote "Trumpericks", a batch of half a dozen satirical limericks about Donald Trump, a Facebook poet friend said, "Didn't that feel therapeutic?" Yes, it did.

I presume Robert Lee Brewer of Poetic Asides will once again ask participants in his PAD challenge to submit up to five of the best poems they wrote in April, so he can announce his picks for the best of the year. (Once again, I regret having so little time to read other poets' work, but there was some really good poetry to be found in connection with both blogs, so maybe i can spend more time now to discover it.)  Last year I made his top 21, and I would love to be a finalist again this year.

So to help you out a little, so you don't have to slog through 30 days of blog posts, here are what I consider my best five poems of this April:


April 11:
Easter Egg Hunt in a Church Graveyard 


The irony of this is lost on three-
and four-year olds, who see this is a yard
with big stones in it. Basket-bearing, free,
they run for multicolored eggs. It's hard
for them, so parents help. Around the stones
they pluck their prizes, scampering above
the long departed, all the dust and bones
of those like Mary Wellington, beloved
wife, 1840-1892,
pneumonia, or some similar disease.
One wonders if she was a person who
had grandkids, and if so, she might be pleased
a little girl named Bella won the race
to find an egg above her resting place.


April 25:
Dewey-eyed

A study cubby back behind the stacks
is where we first locked lips. The shelves between
the main desk and our tryst were filled, the racks
from Poetry to Fiction (811-813)
would camouflage shenanigans, while patrons turning pages
had no idea librarians could be their lusty selves,
by bumping up against the books instead of earning wages,
pulling orders, organizing shelves.
And when we exited that private nook,
returning to the world of Mr. Dewey,
we might  exchange a sideways smile or swap a furtive look,
but always being business-like, no sentimental hooey.
Then after work, like any learned lovers,
we'd read a book and get between the covers. 


April 28:
Ode-iferous

Now what the hell?
What is that smell?
We know it well.
It’s really vile
and gross as bile,
and lasts a while
and spreads a mile.

You stripy ghost,
unwilling host
who reeks the most,
you lift your trunk
and spray your junk
at any punk
who gives you bunk,

then we must dunk
ourselves and sluice
tomato juice,
head to caboose,
to try and loose
the stink that’s in
our hair and skin.

You black-and-white
child of the night,
we will not fight
lest we lose sight
of your foul might,
and your alacrity
with unsatisfactory
things olfactory.

Pepé Le Pew,
we don’t hate you,
but for now, adieu.
You do have spunk –
don’t  be in a funk,
or we’ll be sunk
and get a chunk
of eau de skunk.


April 29:
A Metric Poem

We sometimes run kilometers
(5K is popular here).
We drink our Coke in liters,
and water, but not beer.

We briefly employed Celsius
(also known as Centigrade)
to tell just how hot we were,
but that trend began to fade.

We are a land of miles and feet,
and we're mostly metric-free.
If you're looking for a meter,
you'll still find it in poetry.

And yet, that's not quite true of Frost,
who talked of promises kept,
but not kilometers he must go
before he finally slept.


April 20:
Romance, Anyone? (Formerly titled "Tennis, Anyone?")
My task is to court you.
I’m serving you compliments
but you just lob them back.
This back-and-forth doesn’t seem
to net me anything so far.
Maybe I need more topspin.
We’re playing singles now,
not mixed doubles.
This game seems to go on
forever. You’re set in your ways,
and I seem no match for you.
What’s your racket?
I’m already past thirty, love,
but I’ll keep smashing away.
Maybe I’ll ace it,
maybe I ‘ll double-fault,
but you are worth the effort.
It should be no surprise
that “volley” is an anagram

for “lovely." 

Rounding out my top 10:
War of Words (Apr. 4)
Once in the Middle of a Time (Apr.15)
Marginalia (Apr. 24)
The Agnostic's Sunday (Apr. 30) 
10 Ways of Hearing a Thunderstorm (Apr. 6)

Anyway, those are my picks. As most poets and writers know, your favorites are usually the ones you just wrote, so my opinions of these will undoubtedly change over time. If you wish, you may scan my daily blogs from April to see if there are any you like better,or maybe you already read some you like better. In either case (or even if you just like these), thanks for reading!





No comments: