I missed writing a poem yesterday, so I wrote two poems today. The first was based on a prompt from NaPoWriMo.net, which was to take a walk (in our case a drive) and let it inspire you. The second poem was also based on a prompt from NaPoWriMo.net, to write a persona poem.
Sunday Drive in April
Cement barriers overgrown with black shadowy vines.
Tufts of yellow-green poking over the top
as spring struggles through. Still so many
scrub-brush trees scraping sky. Tiny buds
just beginning to pop on the branches.
It is a bright, chilly Sunday. My son refused
his jacket, which we brought anyway, just
in case. But he is right: at a certain point
it feels so much like spring
you decide to act
as if. As if our skin were bathed
in balmy sun. As if the ground were pliant
and spongy underfoot. As if warm breezes
threaded through our hair and clothes
and buoyed us forward. Born in June, my son lives
for sun. He celebrates steam: in weather
and train. A world of exciting things
bubbling to the surface. My son declares the day
"beautiful." A hawk glides through pure,
cloudless sky. Cherry blossoms promise
a future of pink and gold.
Horton Watches 'Seussical the Musical'
I have fantastic hearing
with my ginormous ears.
They help me hear the kinds of things
that tiny ears don't hear:
like little voices calling,
from a miniature speck.
That kind of strange experience
makes an elephant reflect.
I hear they've written stories
about what happened next.
And even, then, a musical;
songs added to the text!
But I don't see the point
of celebrating me in song.
I only did what's right, you see,
instead of what is wrong.
it's good to be remembered
for protecting little friends;
and I did enjoy the dancing
and the way the story ends.
Not sure why they picked a person
to play the role of me
or a human as the Cat,
which is feline absurdity.
I appreciate their energy
at a matinee past noon --
and the pretty, feathered costumes
and the way they stayed in tune.
Although he's not a pachyderm,
I liked the lead the best.
I'm honored to be played by him;
he stood above the rest:
though his nose may just be modest
when compared to my great trunk,
and his ears are itty-bitty
and his feet do not kerthunk.
For he sang his human heart out
and I think that, after all,
an actor is an actor
no matter how small.
Like this poem? Donate any amount and receive a special limited-edition ebook, available as a PDF in May, titled "Now with Kung-Fu Action Grip." It will include poetry, essays and humor pieces about pregnancy, parenting and my creative, determined toddler, nicknamed Kung Fu Panda. Proceeds will go towards defraying the travel expenses for our upcoming trip to Illinois, where KFP will be a ringbearer in the wedding of a couple we regard as family. Help us make this the best trip of KFP's young life!
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