I’ve registered for the napowrimo site and am super excited, in theory. In truth, I get anxious because I am supposed to write poetry and then I share it on my website which requires tech savvy... so I apologize in advance if I get overwhelmed and under-poemed;)

Ps. What blog service do you use that is super easy-peas??

gearing up for NAPOWRIMO
if only there were a poetry depot
I’m excited but also terrified
from the expectations specified
I’ve psyched myself out
and now I’m in a drought
​

What do I do?
I fret and I stew
for its when I must
that I go bust
I resist and revolt
I need a lightening bolt


but I must write poetry in April
perhaps I should be grateful
I have words to share
and then
and poetry swoops in to save the day


there was a bit of brilliancy, there,
for
a
moment...
but it’s over now

There were distractions galore
So I moved out the door
And down the street
I moved my feet.
I heard a tweet,
Louder than the others,
A message just for me.
So I seek out the strange staccato sound,
Which is a little like laughter.
Maybe they laugh at me, or with me.
I’m giggling at the mad squirrels
As they dash to and fro
And those chickadees are getting frisky.
Spring is in the air,
So many robins in the grass there.

Oh, right...
Operation get me to the library...

Here, at the library, all cozied up in a nook
(a book nook, if you like).
I hear papers rustling;
Some people still read paper.
Voices murmur in muted whispers.
The bookcart creaks across floor.
There is always work to be done.
Hushed laughter indicates pleasure
In a world of words.

Words in books.
Numbers to show the way.
There is order, here.
Dewey liked everything in its own place
As peaceful as it is upstairs,
Downstairs, the squealing, singing and playing tots enjoy the day

Some folks choose magazines,
Others head to bestsellers to see what’s #hashtag #trending,
Some, to new releases, with old endings.
My mind wanders. I wonder:
how many books have
ever been written? and have
they all been read?
Is that even possible? I ponder.
There are way too many books to count,
Let alone read... and if a book is never read is it still a book?

Anyway,
Just hanging out in my library nook
Trying to write for 30 minutes.
It’s not so hard, surely.
Surely, it’s not so easy.

I look, I watch, I’m hungry.
Need food to sustain brain...
I brought lunch.
No excuses.
Keep writing.
Explore.
Love. Learn. Adventure.
Embrace the magic;
Endless discoveries...

In certain slants of light, she looks
like that dude from Metallica (in his younger years).
Everything was happening in Hollywood.
This ain’t Kansas anymore; it’s real,
And my favourite ruby shoes
have a broken heel.
I don’t like how it feels.
And nobody wants to
have anything to do
with a girl and her guitar.

It occurs to me I’m in a dead trade.
I can’t find work so I cant get paid.
And it seems to me,
Everybody does it all for free.

And you realize, as you roam,
that there’s no place like home.
But your home is someone else’s couch.
And it’s do, or don’t;
Not a question of won’t

Truth resonates
The universe inspirates.
Failing to find love and happiness;
Falling fully and flailing completely;
It’s all in the rewrites.
Through it all, you gotta keep on keeping on.

​

​(I’m fine.)

My neck
feels like a car wreck.
Bruised from hip
to toe to tip.
It’s more like a Mack truck
got stuck
After running over me.
And I couldn’t get free.

Though I don’t like to pout,
I’m all inside out.
I’ve been sucked through a Hoover
in some fancy maneuver.
I’ve got that run down,
might drown,
dragged out feeling once again;
Feeling far from Zen.
Please note,
I’m wearing a 100lb coat
and heavy lead boots
to match my mean moods.

I’ve been plugged
into a socket
Now I’m all tingling
and zinging.
Fire demons are gnawing
on my insides, pawing,
Burning knives stabbing me senseless;
I’m defenceless.

Is what I mean
when I silently scream,
“I’m fine.”