Several years ago, when I was in my doctoral program, I started doing 30/30 for National Poetry Month: thirty poems in thirty days in the month of April.
It started in 2015, and I’ve been relatively consistent most years since then. While I never really viewed myself as a poet, and I still don’t like to take on the label, poetry is something I come back to, again and again.
This year, I announced on Instagram and Facebook that I would post my poems on my blog, and then proceeded to… not do so. I did write 12 poems for the month but most of them were written multiple in a day, instead of one a day.
I just couldn’t push myself to do it.
Like much of my own writing of the last several months, it didn’t happen. My final semester as a college professor sapped most of my creative energy and left me without much time or headspace for anything else.
The poetry month that wasn’t did not go as I wanted, but in the interest of fulfilling promises, even if it’s late, here are some of the poems I wrote in April. They are first drafts, with a little bit of editing as I typed them from my notebook, but they haven’t been thoroughly revised or reworked. I hope you enjoy them.
Day 1 (written April 2nd)
Shuffle the cards and lay them out,
one at a time, curious as each card
one through ten, appears to question,
reveal, where my mind is focused
where my heart is anxious
where my unconscious already knows
everything I’m about to learn.
I drew the Hanged Man, residing
in the place of all my hopes and fears.
In suspension, he waits for
the sacrifice of who I was
on the way to becoming who I am.
He waits. He waits for the reevaluation,
for the decisions to be made for the
complacency and misery–my offerings
given for a paycheck–to no longer be enough.
He is waiting, suspended, circulation of blood
too long flowing in one direction without
nourishing all parts of the self.
He is waiting and soon he will be cut free
as the path forward stretches on–
on to the unknown.
Day 2, Written April 3
I wake from slumber the
roar of surf in my ears and yet
when my traveling spirit returns
to my body, desert and dirt
meets my eyes.
Dreams deceived my ears.
Roar of wind battering worn wood
not water wearing away at barnacled
Rocks, slick with salt and sea foam.
Air is murky with dust instead of damp
with fog and if I close my eyes I smell earth
and manure instead of seaweed and salt spray.
The desert, too, is vast and filled
with life and secrets.
Day 4 (Written April 7, for Poems-to-Go)
Prompt: dark fairy tales
Stay out of the forest, everyone knows
to stay in the open sky, to stay where
the sunlight falls warm on skin
everyone is supposed to fear the dark
shadows, the crack of branch and crunch
of leaf under foot, soft pad of feet
eyes and teeth in sliver of moonlight.
when moon is full and sky is clear I make
my way through the fields, cloak over hair
and disguising face so no one knows I seek
the darkness
through the trees and gliding over leaf
in silence, the creatures they fear won’t hear
me coming, and if they scent me, they will stay
a safe distance away
everyone is supposed to fear the forest
but it is only among the thick branches
shadows moss and earth where I feel at home
everyone knows to stay out of the forest
you see…
but the reason to stay out is me.
Day 5: (April 7, poems-to-go)
Prompt: women’s friendship, divine connection, nature
We’re supposed to find god in steepled
buildings filled with pews facing pulpits
but the divine visits me most often
when I’m away in the forest seeking the goddess.
we close our eyes and feel the cool air
on our faces, feel the earth underneath our
bare feet and the hum of the earth connects
to the rhythm of our hearts
the connection to mother earth to the
generative power of ecosystems connected
rooted in the wild
the divine exists in women’s friendships
in connection in the spiritual moment
when hands join and the song of laughter
fills our ears
Day 6 (written April 7 for poems to go)
Prompt: Ida. Learning from motherhood
Flame burning bright
The day you came into the world
our community lit candles
You have kept the flame alive
in your laugh and light and blue eyes.
transformation comes through challenge
and the gift of your early arrival
changed me, showed me, how precious
every terrifying and joyous moment–you
so eager for life that you could not wait.
Your smile and laugh light my heart
and spark my silliness. My Ida, you
remind me that life is play
that life is hard but that we laugh
as we take wobbly and ecstatic steps
towards our colorful dreams and joy.
Day 9 (written April 17)
Twenty years goes by and I
forget you were in my life.
Twenty years is enough to erase
most memories when
so much of heavier weight
brighter color and –lets just
say it– importance has
taken place since that brief
month or less you occupied
Yet after you followed, guilted,
lurked in my world, after
I left you standing in your
hotel room because you
Wouldn’t listen to my goodbye
After you demanded my time
and I kept it for myself
You somehow think you still
Have the right to take up space
And awaken my need
To look over my shoulder.
If you would like to read the other 6 poems I wrote, they will be featured in one of the member-exclusive posts on my Buy Me a Coffee page. You can find that page, here: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/inkandvein
Ink and Vein 