NaPoWriMo day four asks us to write about the cruelest month. Well I'm here to tell you we're in it.
Spring
I'll be damned if it isn't true
that the true sadness in a season
- the cruel root of heartache -
isn't in the dying
but in the Aprils of a life,
when the ground swells and beats.
The year's blood pumping,
sinew stretching bough and leaf
and love unfolds - tenderly -
with all its boundless promise.
Sweeps you up and bids you marvel
oh! It's lovely, oh! It's gorgeous
The prettiest of deceits, for sure.
How soon the Autumn fades
and we forget the slow decay,
the death. Of everything that's good.
Of all that made us brim
and billow; fine false promise.
For who would mourn a death,
if there'd never been a living.
Paint Poem
Day Thirty I like a poem because it's not like a painting. Because I'll confidently cradle something stainless; hold the exceptio...
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Day Nineteen In our village by the mountain, there lived A man p eople called The Wrestler , It was long ago, when my dad was a kid. He - ... -
Day Thirty I like a poem because it's not like a painting. Because I'll confidently cradle something stainless; hold the exceptio... -
Day Twenty Fantastic style designs on pottery from Hacilar. Image from Yakar 2005. The ancients believed That culture was Construed by pot...
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