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.
Erato's Olio: Poems for NaPoWriMo 2022 - 4. April 25 - 31
April 25
Chopin played
croquet on my back lawn,
his movements elegant and fluid
even as he sent Britten’s ball into the puckerbrush
where Menotti and I searched for it;
and from his hammock perch,
Schubert watched.
Tchaikovsky
sat down beside my chair,
a glass of cold ice tea in his hand,
shaking his head at the latest scandalous news
while Copeland and Barber laughed away,
not quite grasping Cage’s
silences.
April 26
Skittish
adolescents
disabrenunciate
heteronormativity
before
learning
metaratiocination’s
superadvenient
fundamental
insights.
April 27
They arose
and flew low overhead,
yelling at each other I suppose,
such imprecations as to fill the watershed
waking all creation from its doze
from crane to copperhead,
heaven knows.
They stretched out
with necks eastward facing,
over green meadow and speckled trout
toward the sunrise on the ridge, its hues embracing
searching for a nest site roundabout,
there the eggs emplacing
without doubt.
They stand guard,
heads tall and eyes awake,
ready to face some pirate, ill-starred,
keen raptor, sly possum, or long, slithering snake,
kept at some length by baleful regard,
eggs ne’er to forsake,
the way barred.
April 28
Oh, my poor soul, did you not stop to think
that to my mortal body you were tied,
or that it forms the warm incarnate link
with all that is in living sanctified?
My soul, I wonder that you failed to see
how love is where the veil of heaven thins,
so through its fabric, grace and clemency
are measured boundless there against my sins.
Now twilight changes swiftly into night,
yet you may comprehend while there is time
that heaven is not waiting out of sight
but immanent in brotherhood sublime.
So every smile and kindness you bestow
builds paradise wherever you may go.
April 29
When it snows,
I listen to woodsmoke
singing of blazing fires and warm hearths,
its Johnny Mathis voice mellow and inviting,
yet I cannot leave the brilliant stars
whose music is mystery
unending.
When it thaws,
I hear restless water
pecking at the ice like unborn chicks
which have listened to their feathered parents crooning
and now insist upon their freedom
to experience life
for themselves.
When it greens
birdsong teaches my ears
melodies they lost while distracted,
like reading glasses left behind in a hurry
while concentrating on shopping lists,
but found once again by
good fortune.
April 30
This day I pray for justice and for peace
and those who must a sovereign be;
may they have courage, wisdom, grace and wit
that laws are practiced equally.
I pray compassion’s overflowing springs
might freely flow from every heart,
so love that centers every glowing soul
can feel as if it has a part.
And where the sun is risen do I hope
for healing in a fractured time,
each tear be mended, all our breaks rejoined,
for everyone and every clime.
One final plea I ask of all who mind:
forgive - to pardon’s gift consent,
that bitter animosity and hate
might in our weary age relent.
April 31
A British Thermal Unit ties
a pound of water’s torrid rise
by just one Fahrenheit’s degree
to kinds of fuel one may devise.
It’s similar in pedigree
to SI units’ Calorie
by which one mark in centigrade
a gram of water’s warmth we see.
This measurement is oddly made
to rate air handler’s power to fade
discomfort ‘neath the blazing sun,
transforming home to dappled glade.
Ironically, our chill is done
transferring heat to anyone
outside our rooms, beneath the skies
while inside our compressors run.
- 12
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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