1.
April, you are my favorite;
don't tell the other months.
Your piles of white cumulus clouds,
deepened by grey trimmings,
make new green sway with bated breath
beneath portentous skies,
packed dense with a glorious storm.
Capricious, rebellious,
you're the mediator between
torpor and heat languor.
I declare this here, loud and clear,
this year it's only you.
2.
Sometimes we are multicolored facets,
parts of a who
Inspired by Jan Hutchinson’s prompts for National Poetry Writing Month 2023.
As I said somewhere else, I won’t manage to write a poem a day this April. The start was delayed, as I didn’t want to bore you with unimaginative rants giving righteous indignation and certain occurrences too many words and importance.
For me, Drudgery conveys the same spirit as Lesson Learned, hope within the daily grind that inspires us to walk on.
As in the other chapters, your haikus are sparkling gems; this is my favorite:
If in God we trust
Do we leave it in his hands
To protect children?
Lesson Learned is heartbreaking and hard to read but as a teacher, I say the learned is definitely positive.
Your haikus generate a Wechselbad (alternating hot and cold baths) of emotions.
The snip of a branch
Reveals a return to life
Sticky sap its blood
I love it,very evocative.
Looking at the stars
Makes light of our existence
Yet soothes our torched souls
Oh my, perfect.
These are great, Gary!
Your April first summarized everything I love about April; she's a temperamental lady.
April 2. resonates with me even though I might want to exchange a few subjects: 'venerating vectors', or e, with Hardy-Weinberg or substrate-enzyme interaction, but Chopin and jazz stay.
I simply love April 4.
I bow to April 5.
Here I take the recommended break.
The scenic route is an often used expression among my friends and family used sometimes in awe, jest, or even describing fun. You added yet another factor and/or element with your sensitive, playful, and sweet poem. Thank you, Gary.
Your haikus made me pause and reflect. The second resonates with me, the fifth speaks of so much more than the few words indicate. It's perfect.
The seventh and eighth made my heart stumble.
Thank you for these, Gary.
You're welcome. I'm glad you didn't find them too dissuading.
Your interpretation was spot on. At least there is a way out when we open our eyes. Thank you for the great comment.
#1
I open
my eyes and leave my head prison
to walk along the freshly brown fields,
rippled by a stiff, spring breeze,
dust sloshes around my knees.
#2
Lightning splits atmospheric nitrogen and oxygen molecules, which results in the scent of rain: Petrichor.
It’s a warning. Beware of Earth doing a spring cleaning, water driven by her fury, sweeping away, dirt.
#3
Water laps against the windowsill; delicate rivulets form seemingly-complex patterns.
A cool bree
These are touching.
Curiosities, you say. It seems your coats are recorder, or memory receptacles, for you to be opened to remember when needed.
Your coats are my shoes.
Thank you.
My conclusion is that one needs a leap of faith, an incentive, and courage to start a new life.
These are great, Terry. I'm glad you decided on yet another way to explore your new life.
Lol, I wouldn't touch #1 and #4 either, but the theme was exploration after all.
A Romano is actually recommendable, Kopi Joss sounds interesting.
Thank you, for reading my poems.