Writer Wednesday: NaPoWriMo (Part 1)

April is national poetry month, and I’m challenging myself to complete one poem per day as part of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month). I’ll post the week’s progress each Wednesday this month. Each poem was written within the day, and I’m trying out different forms. I hope you enjoy.

The Night That Shook the Tree (villanelle—April 1)

The wind came; fierce, it shook the tree.
We, from inside, looked on:
We knew not what the damage of the night would be.

The wind blew clouds against the moon so that we could not see,
But listened instead to its howling song:
The wind came; fierce, it shook the tree.

The soft white blossoms had only just bloomed free—
They would not be for long.
We knew not what the damage of the night would be,

Or its impact on you or me—
The heartless gusts, so strong!
The wind came; fierce, it shook the tree:

The young tree’s death, a travesty,
The rotting buds, so wrong!
We knew not what the damage of the night would be

Until morning, when neighbors cleared what they could not foresee—
Those infantile buds were the tree’s swan song.
The wind came; fierce, it shook the tree;
We knew not what the damage of the night would be.

 

Summer’s Kiss (Echo Verse—April 2)

Summer came in March.
March
               To the outdoors—
Doors
              Open, flowers perfuming the air.
Heir
               To spring, summer cheated;
It
               Followed fast on winter’s heel.
Heal      
               The gaping wound of the cold,
Cold
               Death of winter’s kiss.
Kiss
               The sun today; summer in March will not stay.

 

“Cleaning House” (Dansa—April 3)

The dust lurking in corners hides
Among boxes and clutter stacked:
A magazine here, an ancient toy headed for the trash.
Is he who keeps it all a fool, or wise?
The dust lurking in corners hides,

But who can take issue with that?
Our memories are bound to the materials they begat.
We tuck them away in our mind and inside—
The dust lurking in corners hides.

 

Boy, Wild (Fibonacci Poem—April 4)

Boy,
Wild:
Living
His best life,
Smashing food on face
And laughing while mom cleans it up.

 

Melting Time (Cinquain—April 5)

Easter.
Just yesterday,
It was me finding eggs.
That wonder now belongs to them,
My kids.

 

Sonnet to Late Work (Shakespearean sonnet—April 6)

Late work: it doth pour in, pour in! And I,
Its hapless victim, feel the wrath, resigned
To toil all hours until The End, when by
The grace of Guidance must submit on time

Completed grades from all who slacked in sloth;
In laziness and apathy begot
By coddling, as if a pig at troth,
The scholars’ motivation seems but aught.

Knowledge do they devour? Sadly, no—
But care for what percentage they will earn.
True knowledge not does a report card show,
As one may pass without his having learned.

A change we need, but how do we begin?
True learning blossoms deeply from within.

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