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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Stumbling Into Spring: NaPoWriMo 2021 - 4. April 19th through April 24th

I apologize for my tardiness in posting this fourth sextet for April. All the errors are mine, of course.

April 19th

Blueberries

burnished bright and swollen,

ripened under the midsummer sun,

hang heavy and sweet in luxuriant clusters,

teasing with promises of harvest

only to be stolen

by blue jays.

 

 

April 20th

Eternal is the study hall

where minutes stumble, creep and crawl

and seconds only retrogress

across the clock upon the wall.

 

No stratagem can long address

the somnolence and heaviness

of ennui blanketing the mind

and motivation to suppress.

 

Thus, even while the moments grind

the inmates seek but cannot find

diversions which some time might kill

before the boredom drives them blind.

 

So students down the bitter pill:

their vocab words they start to drill,

with sighs dramatic while they sprawl

and homework notebooks slowly fill.

 

 

 

April 21st

Leftovers

made months ago and thawed,

take me back in time like some machine

to holidays which filled the house with scents of cooking,

and those favorite treats of the season

prepared for more plates

than were set.

 

 

April 22nd

In later life this kind of morning I’d admire,

chill mist upon the water made of glass,

which, frictionless, will skid and swirl from east to west

until a freshened zephyr sweeps it past;

while I, in baseball cap and light blue jacket clad

sip coffee, black and hot, as from a source

from chasms deep inside the red tumultuous earth

and made to flow, obliging, to my cup.

But when I was a little boy, the merest sprat,

my sainted mother thought it best for me

to attain the fundamental arts aquatic

each morning by the shores of this same lake

soon after sunrise, so it seemed to drowsy me,

instructed by enthusiastic teens.

In such a fashion as befits the meanest skill,

I learned to float, to stroke and paddle well enough,

but ever did the dark cold water put me off

with visions of an icy frozen grave

until my added padded adolescent days

let me those morning waters to assay;

the temperature I could endure, but even more,

I’d be a lot less visible from shore.

 

 

April 23rd

I’m too old

to bow down to new gods,

for I have worshipped many idols,

each less approachable, less faithful than the last;

instead will I give thanks for this hour,

the fading moon and the

rising sun.

 

 

April 24th

Old age is an unwelcome guest

demanding service of the best

to tend its many aches and pains

with which the body is distressed.

 

A visitor most oft refrains

from tapping on the windowpanes,

but age will follow through the house,

to know we hear while it complains.

 

It dribbles down its shirt and blouse

While finding cause to grump and grouse,

And hardly pauses breath to draw

While every joy it tries to douse.

 

This lodger’s wisdom urges awe

if recollection has no flaw,

yet in my clothes does it come dressed,

and that’s the very worst, last straw.



There's one more sextet to come for this April. If you have comments or thoughts about this one, please leave them here. I appreciate anything you might have to say.
Copyright © 2021 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

headtransplant

Excellent work as always, I really enjoyed reading these. Some thoughts as I read...

19th - blue jays are the worst 😑 I wanted some blueberries too. They sounded good.

20th - Lovely writing here, I even learned some new words. The drama of it made it funny. Also, several of my students would agree with you completely. No matter how fun I try to make my lessons they already have summer on the mind and even if I won an Oscar I swear they’d still express the “somnolence” you describe here. At the same time, boredom is akin to torture when you’re young and full of energy, so I feel for the poor kids.

23rd - I can relate. Never thought much of having idols, they always find a way to fall.

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Parker Owens
6 hours ago, Valkyrie said:

Those darn blue jays :P  I've attended many of those study halls :unsure:  I enjoyed your swim lesson, new religion, and guest poems.  Another fine selection :)  I can't believe there's only a week to go.  

Thanks very much for reading these. I’m glad you enjoyed them, and their take on the prompts. And I’m working on better netting for next summer!

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Parker Owens
5 hours ago, headtransplant said:

Excellent work as always, I really enjoyed reading these. Some thoughts as I read...

19th - blue jays are the worst 😑 I wanted some blueberries too. They sounded good.

20th - Lovely writing here, I even learned some new words. The drama of it made it funny. Also, several of my students would agree with you completely. No matter how fun I try to make my lessons they already have summer on the mind and even if I won an Oscar I swear they’d still express the “somnolence” you describe here. At the same time, boredom is akin to torture when you’re young and full of energy, so I feel for the poor kids.

23rd - I can relate. Never thought much of having idols, they always find a way to fall.

I got just a handful or two of berries last summer. I’m going to work on better netting, I hope. Study halls are the very fabric of tedium. I had to try and write about the experience before I proctor the next one. I find that gratefulness for the new day helps. Not an idol, perhaps, but a habit. Thanks very much for reading!

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Parker Owens
4 hours ago, aditus said:

Your berry poem inspired me to look for new recipes. Study hall isn't common around here, from your poem I gather Is should be happy about that . :)

Reading your poems is always a treat. Thank you. 

You’re very kind. I’m very fond of most berries I can find hereabouts. There’s a use for so many of them. I’m planning on making a raspberry liqueur this summer. 

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