In the USA, April is designated as National Poetry Month. Perfect. I think I’ll write a poem. This one is me talking to myself about my own poetry.

 

 

Your Poems

~

They’re not all good—your poems.

The earth won’t move in

a different direction

an upside-down message of

~

extraordinary news

come to save us from ourselves.

They’re not all bad—your poems.

They rest on pillows of ideas

~

ready to spring and cause

a commotion somewhere on

somebody’s front lawn

as the sun explodes in through

~

the crevices you didn’t know

even existed there.

Maybe they fall short—your poems,

of making other poets weep

~

or laugh or smile outwardly

at your ordinary rhymes and words

set down with pen on paper,

meant to please or even to 

~

enlighten a preacher—a teacher

a drunk—a seamstress.

Maybe if you scatter words like

pebbles in the sand and

~

send them out with some smooth 

jazzy sounds of a saxophone,

we may feel a little better then,

riding two inches off the ground.