There are those days when you're just driven to daytime drinking...
You know those days, right?
It's worse when there is actually no drink to be drank;
When things go flying before you can even catch your breath;
You get beat upon by life and also fists;
Your best bud is mad at you;
You got assignments due at school
and two jobs to boot;
You gotta make time for the dentist to do his business.
(I'll have you all know - contrary to popular belief, I do not have a big mouth-
and so it really hurts afterwards, what with the fibro and all!)
My hair is atrocious and requiring attention and care...
You get the picture, I'm sure,
Because I know you feel it, too.

a bird fell out of a tree

and landed at the side of the highway

I tried to ignore what I'd seen

but I guess I became the bird that day

battered and broken, I lay there and plea

for the will and the way

to make it all okay

for dreams shatter everyday

they're crushed, like the bird who fell out of the tree

for the bird, I fear 'twas the end

a final fall into oblivion

the hurts too much to mend

its own personal Armageddon

it ended with a soft thud

I keep seeing the poor beast's downward descent

his fast fall to finality

brought about by an innocuous wind,

which wasn't even in the forecast that day

I don't want to be that bird

when life hands you shit,

write poetry

and carry on!

In Honour of Earth...

in awe of Her great beauty

but I see it on a screen-

that separates me

from what's real

what I see

makes me scream

stop the insanity!

Let Her be in love & peace

Still worse than bad and badder than worse

Before it gets better, you can bet your purse!

Sun dogs and Solar halos may be heaven-sent

But all still part of a different argument.

Over and over for many an eternity;

So many cycles about the same shit patty.

Refractions down low and some way up high;

Reflections of the demon in the mirror lie.

Who is wrong? Who is right?

Does it matter? Why do we fight?

For a complete list of FAQs, visit www.NaPoWriMo.net, owned by 
Maureen Thorson, a poet living in Washington, DC. She started writing a poem a day for the month of April back in 2003, posting the poems on her blog. When other people started writing poems for April, and posting them on their own blogs, Maureen linked to them. After a few years, so many people were doing NaPoWriMo that Maureen decided to launch an independent website for the project. 

How do I participate in NaPoWriMo?
Easy! Just write a poem a day for the month of April. You can post them on the internet. You can hide them in a notebook. You can make up a special book just for yourself out of them. Really, all you need to do is write a poem a day for the month of April.

If you choose to post your work on the internet, you can submit your website for inclusion in our online roster of participants. See the “Submit Your Site” link above.

This story with written 15 years ago, by a 17 year old me (Nicola Schneider, 1996) …

My Grandpa

When I think of my Grandpa I think of many things, but my earliest memory would be sitting on his lap, “helping” him do his word-search puzzles.  In actuality, I often, well… most of the time, found the words first.  We’d sit for hours on his brown cushy rocking chair in the far corner of the living room, circling word after word after word.

From that same rocking chair, my Grandpa would watch people and birds through his binoculars.  He liked people.  He could talk for hours about anything from baseball to the bump on his forehead.   

Oh, the bump on his forehead.  That’s a story he enjoyed telling!  “Grandpa,” I’d ask, “how did you get that bump on your forehead?”

“This here bump?” he’d say, pointing to that familiar lump, “I’ll tell you… You hit me in the head with a sledge-hammer and ever since, I’ve had this huge goose egg!”

“No, Grandpa!  I didn’t,” I’d reply, giggling.

“Oh, yes,” he’d insist.

I always knew he was teasing for he had a kind, gentle way about him.  It was he, my Grandpa, who first taught me to skate.  Every Sunday, we’d head over to the arena where I’d slide a little on my skates, and even more frequently on my backside.  But he’d always lift me up and guide me around the rink, until one day I could skate, all by myself!

Now, I think of my Grandpa whenever I go skating.  He has recently passed on but he will live continually in the hearts of those who loved him, and especially in my heart.  He will live on as he once was – not staring blankly or napping motionlessly in his rocking chair – but working on a word-search or peering through his binoculars… like he did when I was a child.

This was also written at that time by Me for an English Writer’s Craft assignment, Grade 12.  It is loosely based in reality.  I think I was going back to when I was younger.  My Uncle, whom I loved dearly, died and my younger brother and I didn’t really understand what that meant.  So, years later, when Grandpa died, I wrote this.  I knew that Grandma was really sad because she missed her husband terribly …

JUST A DAY, ANY DAY, AT GRANDMA's & GRANDPA's HOME

GRANDMA IS IN THE KITCHEN. 
GRANDPA IS IN THE SHED.
THE SUN SHINES.  WARMTH ENTERS THROUGH THE WINDOW PANE,
CURTAINS FLUTTERING IN THE BREEZE,
WHICH BLOWS IN THE SMELL OF FRESHLY CUT GRASS.
GRANDMA IS ROLLING OUT DOUGH.
GRANDPA IS BANGING A HAMMER.
WE WANT TO BE IN TOO MANY PLACES AT ONCE.
THE LEGOS HOLD OUR ATTENTION FOR A WHILE,
BUT INEVITABLY, WE ARE
IN THE KITCHEN WITH GRANDMA, OR                                                                                               
OUT BACK WITH GRANDPA.

SNACK TIME… WE RETREAT TO THE LIVING ROOM TOWATCH OUR FAVOURITE TV SHOW (MR. DRESS-UP).
GRANDMA BRINGS OUR SNACK:  APPLES CUT INTO PERFECTLYBITE-SIZED PIECES, 
PREPARED WITH THAT SPECIAL LOVE ONLY
GRANDMA CAN GIVE, FOLLOWED BY  THE HEAVENLY CRUNCHY
HOMEMADE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES.  THE STRAINED,
PULP-FREE OJ WAS THE PERFECT ACCOMPANIMENT.

GRANDPA COMES IN AND WASHES UP.
THERE’S NO WAY HE’S MISSING SNACK TIME!
AFTERWARDS, IT’S BACK TO WORK,                                                                                                 
AND PLAY.
INSIDE, IN THE KITCHEN, THE DOUGH HAS BEEN FILLED
AND IS READY FOR THE OVEN.
OUTSIDE, THE LAWN MOWER HAS BEEN FIXED
AND GRANDPA CONTINUES HIS LAPS AROUND THE LAWN.
THE CHILDREN PLAY AS ONLY CHILDREN CAN… 
“LET’SPRETEND; LET’S PLAY CHASE!”THEY ARE AS BUSY AS THOSE UPSTAIRS.

(NICOLA SCHNEIDER, 2007)