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Stories 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. 

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

I must hasten to thank @Mikiesboy for prodding me to post poetry in the beginning and @AC Benus for his kind instruction and patient suggestions. One of these poems was brainstormed by one of my own mathematics classes in a fit of tangential diversion. I leave it to the reader to guess which one that may be. Errors in rhyme, meter, line length, or anything else are wholly my own doing.

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.


If you have gotten this far, you deserve my deep appreciation and thanks for reading these offerings for this month. If anything struck your general or particular fancy, I'd be glad to know it.
Copyright © 2022 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories 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

Religious counterfeits... so spot on and I love this poem. April 22 was beautiful, and of course I always love your 'winged' poetry. April 19... the music of spring played here today, and I was lifted up. 

My guess would be the first one, April 17, was written by your students, but what do I know? All of these were wonderful. Cheers!

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14 minutes ago, Headstall said:

Religious counterfeits... so spot on and I love this poem. April 22 was beautiful, and of course I always love your 'winged' poetry. April 19... the music of spring played here today, and I was lifted up. 

My guess would be the first one, April 17, was written by your students, but what do I know? All of these were wonderful. Cheers!

Thank you very much for reading and commenting on such a lovely spring day. I’m glad you felt the last poem was accurate. My gut has been churning for weeks over this. April 19 and 22 were good counterbalance to my anger. Thanks again, and happy spring! 

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2 minutes ago, chris191070 said:

Another great set of poems. Thanks for writing x

Thank you so much for reading this installment. Hugs. 

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  • Site Administrator

A great week of poems!  I like them all for varying reasons, but particularly liked the rhythm and meter of April 22nd.  I also enjoyed the birdsong, and you nailed the feelings with the last one.  I'm going to guess the student poem is #20.  

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April 17, you had me with querulous toad, I'm still smiling. April 18, I was weighed down by sadness. April 19 was quite the counterpoint, beautiful wings.

April 22, I'm not done with this one, my mind spins. April 24, you found words were I could not. You created  a roller-coaster collection this week, as always, thank you, Parker. 

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4 hours ago, Aditus said:

April 17, you had me with querulous toad, I'm still smiling. April 18, I was weighed down by sadness. April 19 was quite the counterpoint, beautiful wings.

April 22, I'm not done with this one, my mind spins. April 24, you found words were I could not. You created  a roller-coaster collection this week, as always, thank you, Parker. 

I thank you very much for taking time with these. I'm especially glad to hear that you aren't quite done with April 22nd.  I hope that means you will come back to it over and again. We had snow today, but earlier this week, the querulous toads were calling in the night.

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2 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

I hope that means you will come back to it over and again.

Definitely.

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