Erato's Olio: Poems for NaPoWriMo 2022 - 3. April 17 - 24

April 17

 

 

 

A chicken just crossing the road

ran into a querulous toad.

Said the eastbound brown bounder:

“take care, don’t encounter

a Freightliner with a full load.”

 

 

~ ~ ~

 

 

I’ve driven nearly several million miles

and watched as creatures tried to cross the road

but never once a chicken.

some tried to use their rude, intrinsic wiles,

while others boldly one whole lane bestrode,

though none my horn would quicken.

It seems a valid question in these trials

to wonder if the highway moved and flowed

where wildlife pathways thicken,

so headlights would light up the deer profiles,

my advent their commute to discommode

before with impact stricken.

 

 

 

 

April 18

 

 

 

I wear chains

hand forged in every link,

wrought in thick iron by my own hands,

which bind me strait so I can neither move nor breathe;

I cannot pick at the stout padlocks,

nor will my squirming serve

to free me.

 

 

 

 

April 19

 

 

 

Now let me offer thanks to things that fly

those creatures treasured most of all,

sweet poetry of beauty, grace, and song

which hold my yearning heart in thrall.

It lifts the spirit when before the dawn,

the cardinal proclaims wet year!

and white-throat sparrows call to the full moon

in plaintive voices, high and clear.

 

 

As sunlight creeps upon the eastern ridge

the phoebe perches to express

intentions matrimonial to those

susceptible to his address;

and Carolina wren’s teakettle! cry

directs the cherry trees to leaf,

while chickadees and titmice rise and stir

to join with their own leitmotif.

 

 

When bright the fingered rays of first light spread

the sapsucker’s percussion tells

of love to river and green forest slopes,

united as the chorus swells.

By daybreak the ensemble’s hymn will rise

enough to wake my soul to sing;

I hardly know of any greater gift

than this, the music of the spring.

 

 

 

 

April 20

 

 

 

You know those

books I once feared to read,

cowed by their length or intensity,

and by their long-winded textual density

or my own rambling propensity

to let thoughts supersede

deathless prose.

 

 

 

 

April 21

 

 

 

I met a man within the looking glass

Whose features were replete with mystery

Despite an understanding none can pass

With all displayed in that reflection’s history.

That visage seemed a sadly altered clone

Of one I rather intimately knew,

Now stretching parchment over skull and bone

Where lately all was ruddy health in view.

Yet riddles and conundrums counted nought,

Nor facts hid from the scientific eye

When knowledge into otherness was wrought

And to the mirror brought a stranger nigh.

We miss the alteration taking place

As time and care continue on apace.

 

 

 

 

April 22

 

 

 

If I were an island and you were the sea,

would you from the burden of carrying me

forever seem weary and yearn to be free,

if I were an island

and you were the sea?

 

 

If you were an island and I were the sea,

surrounded by strong, sweet embraces you’d be,

caressed by the breezes in tranquility,

if you were an island

and I were the sea.

 

 

If I were an island and you were the sky,

would ever the thunderclouds over us lie,

forbidding the solace of sun rising high,

if I were an island

and you were the sky?

 

 

I you were an island and I were the sky,

a secret I’d whisper in mist flowing by,

together beneath its snug blanket we’d sigh,

if you were an island

and I were the sky.

 

 

If I was an island, and you were the flame

that burns undersea in earth’s innermost frame,

would violent fury be our wider fame

if I was an island

and you were the flame?

 

 

If you were an island and I were the flame

our love would well up from within without shame,

so every last singer our tale would proclaim,

if you were an island

and I were the flame.

 

 

 

 

April 23

 

 

 

Elocution’s diminution

led to Fred’s electrocution;

he spoke soft for attribution,

mumbling over retribution,

so the DA’s prosecution

came to some mad resolution,

seeking a swift execution

in a penal institution;

government’s circumlocution

hazarded the constitution

granted him no absolution

from a final dissolution.

 

 

 

 

April 24

 

 

 

I’ve recently been told I can’t say Gay,

nor wear my favorite rainbow tie,

For doing so might someone discommode,

as lavender could make them cry.

Forbid, ye gods, that some poor wretched soul

discerns perchance a whispered queer,

or in the din of conversation bland

a sure, proud voice to overhear.

 

 

How horrible a passerby might feel

to see a rainbow most discreet

upon a door or windowframe affixed;

what shameful thought might it entreat?

And of the library they purge

all mention of our sort of love,

while expurgating from the internet

the written history thereof.

 

 

By modern puritans are we thus gagged,

regardless of our sacred right

to speak and live and learn as we see fit,

all equal in juristic sight.

So pleasure most substantial will I take

discomfiting these hypocrites

as I protest my greater suffering

at their religious counterfeits.