Day 30: Here's to Us! (Reverso)

This is a reverso I wrote in honor of the group of friends I have been sharing poetry with this month. A reverso is two poems in one - one read top to bottom, the other read bottom to top. Both are presented below, so you don't need to rotate your screen. :)

Bravo!

Over 400 poems

we have written

together,

this month alone –

What a fine use of words!

Poems

about life, about spring (or fall), about

Poetry.

“Time” was,

perhaps,

“Once upon a time” –

Yes, we wrote our own stories.

Naked, truthful.

All we had to give

we shared with each other –

Alone

in April,

together in poetry.

~~ and in reverse ~~

Together in poetry

(in April

alone)

we shared with each other

all we had to give –

naked, truthful.

Yes, we wrote our own stories.

Once upon a time,

perhaps,

Time was

Poetry –

about life, about spring (or fall), about

Poems.

What a fine use of words!

This month alone,

together,

we have written

over 400 poems.

Bravo!

Day 29: Poetic Counsel

In the inkpot of life, the poet’s quill dips deep.

Fear not the rise and fall of time,

Of passion, of ego, of loss – Feel

Until you are like to burst with the feeling of it.

Then write, and feel again.

Poetry will keep you awake at night,

If you let it. Let it. There is no better bedfellow.

May the night tease your secret

Words from you like a lover, asking – no, demanding –

All you have to give. Give it.

And demand the same in return.

They say that you have truly learned

A language when you think,

When you dream, wholly within it.

May you learn the language

Of poetry this well,

And swim in its waters like a fish

Glinting in the sunlight.

Day 28: Once And For All

Whenever I think of you

I wish I hadn’t.

You are a chapter in my history book

I wish I somebody had torn out
Before I read it;

A short song

With an unfortunate chorus

That repeats itself unbidden

In my inner ear

When no one else is listening;

A darkened door

Far behind me

Down a bright corridor –

I want to forget what’s behind it.

I want back all those minutes

You have stolen from my peace,

All those thoughts I’ve wasted

Trying not to think about you.

Let these words now

Lay your memory to rest –

I am tired of thinking of you

And wishing I hadn’t.

Day 27: Disillusionment

Today,

pulling books at random

from the untidy shelves, searching

for some inspiration, somewhere,

I came across a child’s ring.

Plastic, purple, gawdy and horrible,

a giant violet rose perched on a broken band –

Twist and it lights up red!

I shuddered at the thought

of what children love these days,

then slipped it on my finger

as if it could make me invisible,

make time slow down,

restore my innocence,

or at least help me crack a smile.

But no.

It just sat there,

glowing annoyingly,

heavy on my finger and my mind.

I sighed and took it off again,

tossed it in the bin

and went on with the afternoon,

still fully visible.

Day 26: When The Poet Sleeps

When the poet sleeps,

what then?

The other mind picks up

The pen,

Dips into the ink,

And then….

Chaos, ALL

the letters      a-jumble, no

Rhyme-or-Reason

(but a whole lot of rep-rep-rep-

etition)

The meter is empty, the metaphor

Has  f l o w n  the coop –

And where have all the chickens gone?

They’re scratching at the ground

Searching for words

While the poet sleeps

Day 25: You Ask When I Knew I Loved You*

When

I

Saw you

I knew you –

I knew I loved you,

And somehow I got the feeling

That our souls were meant to meet and become intertwined.

 *This particular form is called a Fibonacci poem, as demonstrated by the number of syllables in each subsequent line. 

Day 24: Confession

I will admit it,

I was a welfare mother once –

As recently as

Yesterday morning, when I surrendered

My last voucher for bread,

Milk, cereal, cheese to feed my son,

Then swiped away the final dollars that remained

Of this month’s food stamps

To feed us all.

I’ve come to terms with shopping this way –

Painstaking list-making;

Checking and double-checking the glossy brochure

That shows which varieties of cereal are “approved,”

(Wondering why the so-called nutrition program

Condones so much sugar consumption)

Before reaching, yet again, for the plain, boring bran flakes;

Meticulous organization of cart contents, then

Loading everything onto the belt in proper groups by voucher;

Suppressing the flush that rises unbidden

When I hand the cashier

That tell-tale, tattered white card

And he checks the signature

Then steals a glance at the boy

Who is happily swiping the first of three

Methods of payment (none of which we have earned),

Over and over again.

It’s not easy, nor is it fun.

It’s simply necessary.

I am not glad, nor am I proud.

I am simply, deeply, grateful.

Yes, I will admit it –

Yesterday I was a welfare mother.

But tomorrow the first paycheck arrives,

Even more welcome

Than all of those blessed vouchers combined

Because it means we can finally start

Giving back.