Auntie's April 2012 Thread: 30 Poems in 30 Days

30 Poems in Thirty Days



Because yer ol' Auntie is completely insane, but mainly because it is once again National Poetry Month, I have challenged myself to produce a poem a day for thirty days. This represents a break from my usual m.o., since it usually takes me days, if not weeks, to produce something halfway fit for human consumption. Not only that, I can't guarantee the continued health of this computer, not less the looming specter of other factors which may prevent me from using it at all, still I'm going to give it the decades-out-of-college try.

Before someone reminds me that it's April 2, not the first, I'll add that I am aware of today's date. Didn't start yesterday though, and not just because of a technical glitch. I was afraid LitNutters would think it was an April Fool's joke. There are two offerings today, though, which keeps me on track.

For now.

April 1
Poetry Month

Again it’s April, time to write in verse.
It makes me anxious that I can’t rehearse
these feeble lines, which genius makes look worse.

In literary light they fall to shame,
with excellence exceeding fickle fame.
Unworthy am I to mention the name

of Chaucer, whom time never could discard;
nor less the birth and death day of the Bard,
both on the twenty-third. It’s also hard

with Browning’s fond longing for England’s cool
clime in the month great Eliot found cruel.
But I’ll try it anyway, like a fool.


Take the National Poetry Month Challenge!

April 2
The Trout

Between the rocks
a silver
rainbow
flash

above
the clear
and churning
water’s
splash,

it moves
along
the swollen,
silvan brook

beyond
the human
babbling, and
the hook.

A noble and ambitious quest Auntie! Two accomplished offerings which are both pleasurable to peruse. I like them both equally well, not that I wouldn't be able to suggest some minor, presumptuous tweaks and alterations - but I shall refrain :D

Keep up the good work! (Somebody has to - LOL)

Live and be well - H

Excellent challenge. Good Luck!

Go Auntie!

Good poems Auntie. I like how you've started with a poem about poets.

It looks like April will be a fruitful month.

April the third
the last that was heard.

Two brilliant pieces to read Aunt! Very well done!
A great idea indeed!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Jerrybaldy

April the third
the last that was heard.

---

Is that your very own Jerrybaldy?

Thanks, fellow LitNutters, for your encourging words! Here's April 3, JerryB:

April 3

The Crocus

Forget about
the oligarch
and those whose
boots would stomp
upon our will.

Instead submit
to anarchy,
the kind
that lets
our spirits soar.

Kneel down
and take
a loving look

at the little
purple spikes
conquering
the shifting ground.

April 4

Gehenna’s Child

My Irish ma, devout and proud,
who cherished chalices and The Shroud,
would set aside each Holy Day
as one more reason we should pray.

“Spy Wednesday” * in the last week of Lent–
oh my-- what sinful thoughts that sent:
like cloaks and daggers, furtive feints,
state secrets not among the saints.

Hypocrisy was what she meant,
but I, intrigued, could not repent.

*Matthew xxiii: 3-5, 4-16

What a treat!

Thanks, Aunt.

I was thinking today Auntie that you are following the tradition of invoking the poetic spirits of inspiration in your first poem. Excellent stuff. Looks like it's working.

Apart from the several excellences of these I'm mightily impressed by the variety of voices/form in which you've witten thus far. But what does it mean that you've presented us with April 4 a day ahead of time?

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin

But what does it mean that you've presented us with April 4 a day ahead of time?

---

It only means that since I lack the foreknowledge of what may happen on any given day or how Pong 3.0 might choose to behave, I'm working "ahead" when I can to have a cushion so I won't fall too far behind.

I enjoyed the one about the trout being beyond the babbling and the hook.

They all are excellent choices. A nice endeavor.

April 5

No More Whining for Bread

All of us, of course,
need money,
but I love
wildflowers more,

and the blissful sparrow
unaware that
someone’s got
its back.

Death will come
(it always does),
but for now it’s shelved
way back in my mind,

where from time to time
it’s good to recall
that the way
to be remembered
is to do
peculiar things.

April 6

A Murder of Crows

The rooks (or black birds) circled round and round
three empty roods on the deserted hill
in sight of scattered thorns upon the ground
so lost and disregarded in the kill.
With empty roods on the deserted hill
was there no sense of sorrow for the crown
so lost? And disregarded in the kill,
a clash between divine and human will,
was there no sense of sorrow for the crown,
a part of ancient prophecy fulfilled?
Could a clash of divine and human will
be picked up by a sharply pecking bill?
Not part of ancient prophecy's fulfilled
insight, the scattered thorns upon the ground
could be picked up with sharp, pecking bills
of rooks and black birds circling round and round.

April 7

Nuance

There is very little
difference between
the word “good”
and the word “god.”

Oh.

The poems are gret Auntie.

I was thinking about it, but I take too long to write them.

Auntie I don't think you're allowed to post before the date has actually arrived you know...:nono:

(wonderful poems btw)

I'm sure you'll be remembered then Auntie :D I confess I was somewhat baffled by your use of roods in A Murder of Crows. A rood can be an archaic and obsolete measurement of area, (or length) and a screen or crucifix in a church. I think there may be some etymological link between rood and rod, another measurment of length which habitually hangs around with poles and perches, so perhaps this is why the crows like it so much ;)

very clever offerings all though :)

Live and be well - H

I am happy to be back in time to see these gems for April. Such a challenge conjures up one's spontaneity and yours is quite delightful.

My favorites so far are The Trout and No More Whinnig For Bread. I will read every one going forward.

Ah!

I get to add yet another reason why April is my favourite month of the year. :)

These are beautiful, Auntie. Really wonderful idea! I, too, enjoyed the fish and the babbling above the brook. :) Perhaps because I am drawn to shiny things, being easily distracted. The word 'silvan' is very pleasant for me to read on any occasion.

These are really pretty good Aunty - you should consider posting more often (like throughout May, f'rexample) :)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by AuntShecky

April 6

A Murder of Crows

The rooks (or black birds) circled round and round
three empty roods on the deserted hill
in sight of scattered thorns upon the ground
so lost and disregarded in the kill.
With empty roods on the deserted hill
was there no sense of sorrow for the crown
so lost? And disregarded in the kill,
a clash between divine and human will,
was there no sense of sorrow for the crown,
a part of ancient prophecy fulfilled?
Could a clash of divine and human will
be picked up by a sharply pecking bill?
Not part of ancient prophesies, fulfilled
insight, the scattered thorns upon the ground
could be picked up with sharp, pecking bills
of rooks and black birds circling round and round.

---

The lines you reiterated would have been powerful enough the first time around but reiterated they changed in depth and tone and added adimension of sadness to this wonderful poem.

Thanks for all of your kind comments, and Happy Passover and Easter, everyone!
Special note to Hawk: I looked up "rood" in the two dictionaries I use; the word was not listed as "archaic" in either. (Like yours truly, the two lexicons are "old," but not THAT old!) The word itself comes from Middle English and has several contemporary meanings: the first is "The" Cross or crucifix on which Christ died, and the second listing is any cross or crucifix. The use of "rood" as a chiefly British measurement is also one of the meanings. I used the word to play off "rook," which in addition to a noun for a crowlike Old World bird, also is a chess piece, sometimes referred to as a "castle," which plays off the use of "crown" in a later line.

And Prince: Thanks for noting the repetition, but the repetition is prescribed by the chosen form, a pantoum, which seemed to me to be appropriate since it begins and ends the same way, like a circle.

Next up, the April 8th posting, just under the wire!:



Full Moon in April

The other night I thought it no avail,
celestial sights hide, eluding me.
A meteor spray or a rare comet’s tail
will bolt like a skittish child from a bee.
Although a shower loomed, I still could see–
despite lenticular clouds- clear as glass,
the moon called “Egg” or “Pink” or “Sparrow Grass.”

I'm a bit confused by this one Auntie. What "it" failed to avail? If the April moon had stayed hidden I think I'd have got the point, but in L5 you say you can still see it, and it gets a pretty description in the last line. You also seem to be hopping arround in time a bit. Opening line in the past, with, "The other night" but L2 hops into the present, "Hide" being present participle; L4 forecasts the future with "Will". In L5 we are transported back into the past with "Loomed". It all doth make the Hawk's head spin a bit ;)

I do like that closing couplet though.

Live and be well - H

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hawkman

I'm a bit confused by this one Auntie. What "it" failed to avail? If the April moon had stayed hidden I think I'd have got the point, but in L5 you say you can still see it, and it gets a pretty description in the last line. You also seem to be hopping arround in time a bit. Opening line in the past, with, "The other night" but L2 hops into the present, "Hide" being present participle; L4 forecasts the future with "Will". In L5 we are transported back into the past with "Loomed". It all doth make the Hawk's head spin a bit ;)

I do like that closing couplet though.

Live and be well - H

---

Thanks, Hawk. About this septet with "rhyme royal," written in haste. Because of the meter's restrictions, I invoked my poetic license (if in fact I deserve one) and took liberties with the tenses in order to conserve the quantity of syllables. Obviously, I didn't think this would cause a cognitive
disconnect, with the following excuse(s):

"It"--the full moon-- being able to see it, since usually celestial phenoms (Leonid showers, eclipses, auroras, etc.) elude us in this part of the world, where it's likely that overcast skies will occlude everything. Used "will hide" (as a continuous tense?) to connote "usually." "Loomed" for "was looming" (the other night) when I "still" (meaning "nevertheless") could see the April moon. And incidentally, I did see it!

Here's today's piece, posted with misgivings, since I probably didn't get it right:



April 9

Double Dactyl


Quackery Hackery
Freud (Sigmund), analyst,
poking and downsizing,
cuts no goo. Some think:

“Probity!” Probably
microencephaly
prompts one’s impertinence:
“Nuts to you, dumb shrink!’

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by AuntShecky

Quackery Hackery
Freud (Sigmund), analyst,
poking and downsizing,
cuts no goo. Some think:

“Probity!” Probably
microencephaly
prompted one’s impertinence:
“Nuts to you, dumb shrink!’

---

So skillful!

I know this is too much to ask, but I'll ask anyway: read it out for us into a mic, and post it as a file. This is definitely written to be spoken!

(I'll love you no less if you don't. But I hope you will.)

DH

April 10

Man Bites Dog

“News that stays news,”
defined the scribe named Pound,

also the former name
for the county animal shelter,

where yesterday authorities
took 83 skeletal cats, found in filth.

In the ensuing confusion
an eighty-fourth unfortunate creature,

slipping out of the quaking hand
of the squeamish officer,

with manic liberation, madly ran.
It thought it saw a delectable bird,

sunshine-y yellow with enormous blue eyes.
From escape to chase feline thoughts segued.

Great minds at times think alike,
and on occasion, instinct too,

for thereupon an English bulldog
spotted the cat, felicitous for pursuit.

Meanwhile, a guy believing himself
clever for having hidden a camera

behind the toilet paper roll in the ladies’ room
at a CVS about a block away,

nonchalantly stepped outside the store
well in view of the uniformed patrol,

from whom he fled on foot.
The aforementioned dog,-- we neglected to note --

carrying the condition called ADD,
forgot the puss and switched its prey.

Mere seconds passed when the canine caught up,
jumped the perp, and held him fast.

Desperately the pinned perv seized
a paw and chomped down hard.

Hence: MAN BITES DOG;
SAYS ‘TASTES LIKE CHICKEN’

Poem of 10 April: Brilliant fun!...

My favourite part is with manic liberation, madly ran.

Thanks for sharing, Aunt!

Regards,
DH

Thank you, Doc. ^

April 11

Whale Watch

The introspective prince
saw shapes puffed up in skies,
but could not be convinced
without some helpful lies.

Imagination fails,
when real life shows its stark
side, freezing up our sails
and leaves us in the dark.

With no foot on a floe,
no need to feel the list
of shifting ice to know
that arctic isles exist.

Some mammals big as rafts
leap up and down the waves,
swim right up to our craft,
and splash for chum and raves.

Unfamiliar with our kind
within collective lore,
others never have a mind
to venture close to shore.

Not speared on statistics,
as are the friendly gams,
natural, not mystic,
where our realm never rams.

Where man’s unknown as night,
the whale world knows by heart
Ultima Thule’s site,
a deep berg’s greater part.

The creatures of the sea,
so glibly pegged as good,
are alien as we,
with egos full. What would

they think or make of us,
if not as food or harm?
Some strange breed of grampus,
a time piece on his arm.

You do seem to have been enjoying yourself, Auntie :D April 9th's offering would seem to betray a predilection on your part for crosswords, as it reads a little like a clue for the cryptic variety - LOL. Playful and clever though and a lot of fun to read.

Man Bites Dog opens as a tour de force of word association football but quickly stabilizes in to a cunning narrative artfully wound around the eponymous title. Great fun.

Whale Watch, though bearing the stamp of your trademark humour is less successful to this reader, probably because he's missing something, but the rigid structure of 3 stresses per line kind of hamstrings the flow a bit. It doesn't quite work as a ballade as the scansion suffers occasionally and there are some howlers (presumably intentional) in the rhyming which don't sit well contextually. Waves and raves, rafts and crafts (ouch!) gams and rams... You are torturing the Hawk - LOL. I never could quite place that introspective prince, unless of course, you are referring to the much maligned Charles, which would sort of make sense as he's the Coronetted prince of Wales.

Still, who am I to criticize; I'm not writing anything!

Live and be well - H

I appreciate all of your comments. Keep in mind that most, if not all, of these things were written in fewer than 24 hours, which may (or may not) provide a little wiggle room as far as expertise and quality. Even so, please feel free to go ahead and criticize, Hawk, but nonetheless let me defend or at least, 'splain:

The "crossword" of April 9 is a wickedly difficult form with strict rules, but my foolhardy nature tempted me to try it. Clicking the title on the April 9 posting should bring you to a webpage 'splaining how to write the Double-Dactyl.

Speaking of which, the double dactyl form was created back in the 1960s by John Hollander (primarily) with Paul Pascal and Anthony Hecht. Incidentally, I recently read Anthony Hecht's stunning poem, "It Outherods Herod. Pray you Avoid it."

The whale watching thingie could never in a thousand years approach the level of Hecht's artistry but I wanted to emulate the form-- nine quatrains of iambic trimeter. A couple of Hecht lines might look like tetrameter, with a couple extra syllables, but after examining them a little closer, I see that in some places there are anapests (x x /) such as in a prepositional phrase. Count the stresses, not the syllables. So maybe that's where you thought the meter went haywire. (It still may have, since your old Auntie is rhythm-impaired.) As far as the objectionable rhymes-- "raves"-- refers to the "oohs and ahhs" of the middle class whale-watching tourists. I've heard reports that some whales and porpoises --even in the "wild" outside of Sea World-- often ham it up for the crowd. Hence, they perform for chum and "raves." "Crafts" as in seagoing craft, as opposed to the more generalized and pedestrian "boats." "Gam"--collective noun for a group of whales. "ram(s)" --I wanted to use that as a syn. for "abuts," meaning the land masses inhabited by human beings, "shorelines" do not always rub up against the realm of the whales. In these oceanic regions, it's highly probable that the inhabitants have no idea human beings exist.

Part of the theme of that poem refers to our tendency toward sentimentality toward animals and anthropomorphism, which when you come right down to it, is pretty damn condescending. But the larger theme is epistemological, a $50 word about the philosophy of knowledge--how do we know what we know? Coming to terms with the limitations of knowledge is the theme of the poem that inspired the content of the April 11 poem--"The Great Bear," by John Hollander (one of the Double Dactyl trio.) An editor's footnote to that poem contains a reference to the "Prince" in my ditty. If you've got a copy of Hamlet handy, look up Act III, scene ii, lines 392-9. Okay?

Now, as in an opening for a leaping whale, once more into the "breach"--

April 12

Termagant is Fair Pay

“Iceland” keeps coming up
in everything I read
maybe a sign
I should go there

heard how the whole island runs
on vast pots of geothermal energy
down in the gassy nether earth

one can easily find a warm spot
to sit on while wearing a bathing suit
theoretically

frigid air above
hot stuff below

cold shoulder
hot air
plenty of both around here
in this so-called temperate zone

Got to watch out for volcanoes
up there in the N. Atlantic
You never really can predict
when a vent’s about to blow

no such thing
as a temperate termagant
no big mystery
in the misbegotten birth

of the word pulled off wagons
circling around medieval cycles
of plays with characters
fabricated out of thin air

an insult to Muslims
an insult to women

I want to be Lilly Ledbetter
first I got to get a job

me all harried and harassed
seething steaming
bubbling under the surface

beware the wrath
of a patient volcano

meanwhile Iceland
keeps coming up
in everything

may be a sign

I loved Whale Watch and the twist in the last stanza Auntie.

Thank you, Delta. ^

April 13

Triskaidekaphobia

It’s only a number, just twelve and one,
not a digital warning from the sun.
Take nine plus four (if I have added right.)
It makes no sum that brings unlucky plight.

When Friday coincides, no need to run
this casual day, when work’s almost done.
The weekend’s prelude at last has begun.
Count on no ill omens timed for tonight –
it’s only a number.

Recall the corner pastry shop with fun:
a bonus doughnut or an extra bun,
thanks to the baker’s dozen of delight,
a sweet release from superstition’s blight.
Why spit out misfortune when there is none?
It’s only a number!

I do not read poetry much, but after reading your last one and few others, I quite like them.

Thank you

Great poem Auntie and I love the way you break the 13th down with sweet things and math. I spent a wonderful afternoon yesterday having coffee and cake with a guy in my house (which is saying ALOT!) Nice way to disspell superstition.