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- 04/22/2019
- 650 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.
Thirty Daze in April - 3. April 15 through April 21
April 15
The world is full of melody,
the brook, the bird and bumblebee,
the poplar creaking on the wind
that groans in perfect harmony.
Each sings a tune none can rescind:
the wolf that howled, the goose that dinned
the marshland or the reedy lake
cannot be silenced or chagrined.
Fall rains which thrum when I awake
keep time with every step I take
through puddles like the cymbals’ clash,
till warmth gives way to ice and flake.
Great ocean rollers roar and thrash,
then croon to sands which they abash;
love’s chorus in cacophony -
though you may think this balderdash.
April 16
Of what substance are you made, O my soul, O my soul;
Of what fabric and what shade, O my soul?
Braided fair and woven fine,
found in patterns wholly thine,
and upon the body laid, O my soul.
And of what yarn did you weave, O my soul, O my soul;
Of what thread did you conceive, O my soul?
Twisted silk and linen new,
golden skeins known to but few,
blended to your fears relieve, O my soul.
But my eyes don’t see it thus, O my soul, O my soul;
Only crude twine treasonous, O my soul.
You must look as others do,
not with mirrors all askew,
but with love harmonious, O my soul.
April 17
Of all the vegetables I may grow
that prosper in the ground,
amongst the seeds that the hand will sow
Tomatoes wear the crown.
They have their infinite multitude
of type and cultivar
from long, determinate Romas rude
to heirloom whites, bizarre.
Now one may argue the melon’s case,
such is their great demand,
or peppers possibly may misplace
one’s thinking on the land;
but give me Brandywines warmed by sun
in August, for my meal
and heirloom cherry tomatoes, fun,
which grow with untold zeal;
The Kellogg’s orange skinned giant orbs
September’s breakfasts make,
Their juice my sourdough bread absorbs
would sweeten any cake.
Take your asparagus, it’s quite fine,
and beans and parsnips, too;
but I’ll take Cherokees from the vine
and leave a few for you.
April 18
April sings
of robins bouncing on green lawns,
of fishermen with day-old beards hip deep in icy creeks
and tiny daffodils blazing yellow-gold in grass that hasn’t yet caught up;
Her voice recalls
scents of warm earth,
old furrows, uncovered gardens
and open water;
She sways
to the rhythm of the sapsucker’s drumming on cottonwoods,
the hiss and patter of raindrops on the roof,
and the staccato playing of the John Deere up the hill;
April’s tune
has no final cadence
as with November’s first snowfall,
but blends itself into May’s fresh green leaves,
Memorial Day lilacs
and June’s tang of sun and sweat.
April 19
Beforehand
he kissed me at the door
and led me to that bright sunlit room
where with mutual breathless exhilaration
he unveiled me, button by button,
speaking naked truths on
our bare skin.
Afterwards,
he held me in the hush;
in the room’s sudden sated stillness
warm breath and dazed kisses on my neck and shoulder
bound me closer and tighter to him
than all our explosive
ecstasy.
April 20
Bees buzz,
such lilliputian insects
procuring sugars complex
attired in yellow-black checks
facilitating plant sex.
Buzz biz,
they trip the light fantastic
in motions quite stochastic
appearing most gymnastic
relaying food thoughts drastic.
Biz bros,
relations in gazillions
the offspring of cotillions
the queen held with civilians
who rode with her as pillions.
April 21
I believe
that we are made for love;
to bless and to receive great blessing,
and mend a fractured heart or sustain weary friends
with strong arms and spirits that embrace;
to breathe compassion and
wake to joy.
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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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