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- 04/13/2018
- 515 Words
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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.
April Weather: NaPoWriMo2018 - 2. April 8 through April 14
April 8
Breezes
ruffle my hair
with friendly affection
and the masked strength of a cherished
uncle;
far off,
sulky sibling winds howl and rage,
breaking oaks like cheap toys
scattered across
the spring.
April 9
There's danger when you play with flame,
for one can't trust a bit of fire,
it's not a creature wholly tame,
which pants to do what you require;
instead, it may your heart inspire
to dress itself in bright array
and all one's secrets burn away.
So carelessly we toss the briar
on embers in the hearth which play
upon it with combustion dire,
each branch a secret to assay,
their passions blazing to betray
such thoughts a lover yearns to know,
the sources of their inmost glow.
Now with your match take care, I pray,
consider well the status quo,
although your head be proud and grey
fear not to waver to and fro;
it's true the heart may burn quite slow,
yet fire consumes it just the same -
it won't be me who gets the blame.
April 10
Metaphors
are exuberant beasts,
colorful, proud-maned creatures that live
in loud, acrimonious, breeding colonies,
eating up facts, drinking circumstance,
adapting endlessly
to the truth.
April 11
Old boots,
with worn out soles
and scuffed, scarred brown leather,
your parched tongues hanging out like a
hound dog's;
number
the dirt roads and hard, cobbled streets
you have traveled with me;
long miles full of
yearning.
April 12
As I from middle age embark,
I cannot help but steal a glance:
the far horizon's wide expanse
is covered by the growing dark.
So many of my circumstance
have left these shores ahead of me
and sail upon an unknown sea,
forsaking love and all romance.
I wonder if they thrill with glee
to leap amongst the brilliant stars,
forgetting insults, pain and scars
to joy in light most gloriously.
For us who live midst rocks and plants
and struggle with dull gravity,
we weep upon our blended knee
to rue misfortune, blind mischance
that in this green and graceful ark
we never joined our hands to dance
or make small minds to look askance
while on the world we leave our mark.
April 13
Spring might have shown its face today
though I cannot swear to it;
but I heard a phoebe call from the creek,
and another answer farther off,
while my brave crocuses still show yellow and purple
as the snow recedes around their feet;
and my blood stirs.
April 14
The music in my soul is sounding low;
I fear my notes are soon to fade away,
with nothing left but echoes and dismay
and traces of a tune I ought to know.
Perhaps the fabled muses might bestow
miraculous encouragement today,
yet fair Erato deigns not come to play;
my melody sounds pianissimo.
Constrained, the tune is chanted in a hush
until I see you listening, intent;
then inspiration's flood comes at a crush
and nothing my crescendo will prevent,
for joy will serenade you to the blush,
my solo urges harmony's consent.
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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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