Wednesday, April 4, 2018

April Is National Poetry Month. What We've Got So Far: A List of Crazy Art Shows, Surprising April News, and the Little Crocus That Could

       It's April! National Poetry Writing Month invites poets (a big-tent concept) to write a new poem each day. Here's what I've come up with so far, after getting a late start. 
          My poem for April 3 follows from a prompt to write a "list poem" consisting entirely of invented names for new bands -- or, perhaps, romance novels, TV sitcoms, etc. Taking off from that concept I chose titles for new art installations.

4. 3 Brand New Art Installations: Accompanied By Lavish Illustrations 
(and chanted to the melody of "Durga Ma" by Edo&Jo)

The Garden of the New Broken Future
O Zen, O Now Und Zen
Green Hells Where the Hardhat Ants Raise Cities to the Sky
The Garden of Fig Trees and Future Stress
Tiny Worlds Descending From Stories of Gods Clashing
Airplane Views of Hidden Continents Roiled by Glacial Melting
Octopussy Gardeners: Eight Little Garden-Gloved Hands Make    
      Light Work of Spring Planting
Beneath the Undiscovered Seas New Reefs Are Forming
Inorganic Plastics and The Chain Migrations of the Sins of the   Peculiarly Corrupt
Cleansing Hate: Destroy the Photos and Plastic Figurines of Those Whom You Truly Detest
Courtiers of the New Millennium, Who Wait with Trembling Knees, Bad Teeth, Phony Resumes, and Ignorant Diplomas
Trapped Doors of the Anthropocene: Reptilian Teeth, Plastic Scales, Many-Legged Cretins
The Bonsai of Recollected Vanities Hung by the Neck From Tiny Trees
 ... Coming to you at a nearby museum or gallery.

4/1/18: At Long Last April

What a heavy antidote
April Fool's and Pesach, Easter on its way
I receive the doctor's note:
I have Barrett's Esophagus today
I don't believe I know the man
I really cannot say
If he has lost a body part
We're all careless in our way
I can't imagine a reason why
I'd stoop to scam used organs
And if I were to finger flesh
God knows I'm no esopha-guy
Admiring a heart or lung
Another stomach could be fun
A kidney for the one I lost
I'd carefully consider cost
I offered up a bladder galled
And woke to find a world appalled
My body gets up to such tricks
I'm an open book -- with no appendix
April, I'm not fooling here
My body's growing hollow
But when I'm charged with organ theft
It's more than I can swallow.


4.2.18  I See You, Croci, You See Me

I see you peeping up there
from a shelter of old leaves
You really bring some color when and where
we need it most
You really are a hero,
a guest who blossoms into host
the little guy who lives to try  
and when they throw the garbage lid
upon your tiny yellow id
you flatten out like Hamlet did
and your rating sinks to zero
You're an emblem of our time
A flag to welcome spring
In a day or two you reach your prime
And when your glory turns to dust
It really is a crime.

I see you peering down at me
You boot-steps almost nearing me
I wish you would be fearing me
But I just don't have the time
You think I'm just a show-off
a sunny flash for your delight
But I have my own agenda
And I close up every night
There's a plan for my expansion
Seed money in the bank
And if some day your garden fills
with a host of golden daffodils
You won't have me to thank
But I lead the way for those to come,
light the pathway to the sun
So April boots must watch their step
For though the season seems to creep
It's we who make it run.

[for more about National Poetry Writing Month see    ]