#npm2015

[booklyreads]

Poetry is mostly a new thing for me. I read a bit in high school, briefly, and felt subsequently great about myself. And then I didn’t read a single poem for another three years. I knew poetry was …

my contribution to National Poetry Month

[makeupbyafnan]

First Look For Otis fashion show

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 28

The Fox

It was an ordinary morning: November, thin light, and we paused over our pancakes to watch something red move outside. Our house is on

an untamed patch of land and, across the lagoon, another house surrounded by trees. On the banks of their shore, facing us: a fox. We thought

he might be a dog at first for he trotted and sniffed like a dog but when he turned to us we knew he was nobody’s pet. His face was arranged

like a child’s face — playful, dainty — and his eyes were liquid and wild. He stood for awhile, looking out, as if he could see us in our pajamas, then found

a patch of sand beneath a tree and turned himself into a circle of fur: his head tucked into his tail. It was awful to watch him sleep: exposed,

tiny, his eyes closed. How can any animal be safe enough to rest? But while I washed our dishes he woke again, yawned, and ran

away to the places only foxes know. My God I was tired of being a person. Even now his tail gestures to me across the disapproving lagoon.

—Faith Shearin

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 27

To Those Who Would Awaken

it will happen like this for many of you, the house suddenly too much, the garden so full you go out, maybe thinking of the way the earth gives under your feet, the water making circles around them if you have to cross a river, leaves and branches lift up and then brushing against you when you have crossed, these things or the very structure of things, the making of the hip joint, electrical plots in the heart, thalamus sending reminders to the moving, you looking up into the still wings of gliding crows on this day when you know in one second there is the power to give things new names, so you decide this is not leaving but returning, that ends are middles or that there are no points, no time, so by the time you are miles away from leaving it is only the eternal very first moment of anything, making a pound cake from scratch, moving your hand across the hem of a new skirt, the slight fear and tremble when a sudden sound hits your wall, like children throwing the ball against the fire escape until it rattles like an empty skeleton, the hot shower where you are alone until the memories step in with you, deep solitude of living alone, falling to where you are connected with everything, and it happens, the stepping out, mind full of seeing yourself move out into the world without difference so you can see every move you make is a change in the current, the arrangement of patterns under a brush, a twisted calligrapher’s stroke, all these things, walking while the bones of who you are become roots.

—Afaa Michael Weaver

[rcconwi]

(FREE E-BOOK) An exclusive limited offer, just for my friends on Tumblr.

This is a book of poems for you. If you are a student of life and all its wonderful complexities, then this is a book for you. This is no ordinary poetry. R.C.Conwi's creative expression will give you a deeper insight into the human condition. It's a bold collection of words exploring optimism, pain, relationships, self-worth, and faith. Included are 23 brand-new poems created during National Poetry (Writing) Month. R.C.Conwi is the Executive Editor at NourishmentNotes.com and an Expert Author at EzineArticles.com.

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 26

Ah, Ah

Ah, ah cries the crow arching toward the heavy sky over the marina. Lands on the crown of the palm tree.

Ah, ah slaps the urgent cove of ocean swimming through the slips. We carry canoes to the edge of the salt.

Ah, ah groans the crew with the weight, the winds cutting skin. We claim our seats. Pelicans perch in the draft for fish.

Ah, ah beats our lungs and we are racing into the waves. Though there are worlds below us and above us, we are straight ahead.

Ah, ah tattoos the engines of your plane against the sky—away from these waters. Each paddle stroke follows the curve from reach to loss.

Ah, ah calls the sun from a fishing boat with a pale, yellow sail. We fly by on our return, over the net of eternity thrown out for stars.

Ah, ah scrapes the hull of my soul. Ah, ah.

—Joy Harjo

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 25

Nostalgia

The professors of English have taken their gowns to the laundry, have taken themselves to the fields. Dreams of motion circle the Persian rug in a room you were in. On the beach the sadness of gramophones deepens the ocean’s folding and falling. It is yesterday. It is still yesterday.

—Mark Strand

[vbjpoetry]

My Affliction of 2013

Some people think that alcoholism is controllable, They look at me dumbfounded when I say it’s not. I have firsthand experience on this affliction. Like dealing hand that’s never been dealt, the Mystery is what intrigues those that live without guilt. I used to drink a 6-pack of beer every night… Bud Light to be precise. The diluted crisp taste wasn’t Foreign to me. I’ve been drinking THIS, since I was 16. Fully aware of the affects it would have on me, the first 2 always went down smooth and the next 3 were consumed cautiously. I had the TV on and needed to watch Midnight Love on BET. Sleep by 1 and up at half past 5. Shit, shower, and shave, then finish the 6th by 5:55. Out the Door by 6 and headed to work. This went on for several months and no one knew what was Wrong with me. I have a way of hiding my pain. I was destructive, defiant, and deliberate with my belligerence. Malicious when I pushed people’s buttons out of countenance. It took a lot out of me to get over that woman. I was removed from the situation–the country to be exact. Deployed overseas to Iraq. No alcohol consumed Until my return. By that time, I was renewed. My demons overcome.

Victor B Johnson All Rights Reserved © 2015