April Poetry Month

Well, here they are. All 30 poems from poetry month. I didn't know if I was going to post these, because some of them are pretty personal. Some of them are also just really bad. But for better or worse, here they are. My thoughts, feelings, and messy mind all splayed out for you to enjoy or judge as you will. This is what most of them look like, written on scrap paper and the backs of envelopes:

It was really weird, going through all of these again and seeing what my state of mind was like throughout the month. I think I grappled a lot with attachments and insecurities for most of the month but then resolved to stand on my own two feet by the end and let go of all the things I had been holding onto so tightly. Letting go of attachments is hard. Living in the moment is hard. Poetry helps.

April 1st

Earlier today I had the sudden urge to stare directly at the sun,
even though I knew that I shouldn't.
It's golden rays dancing through the trees
and playing with patterns on my cheeks.

I couldn't help myself. 
Without consciously deciding to do so,
I stole a glance
then quickly looked away
Bright spots flashing in front of my eyes.

Well I must have fucked up my depth perception or something
because I'm on the highway cruising ahead at 70mph,
but the closer I get 
the farther away you seem. 

April 2nd

Scar of the past
on a lonely tree
forever park of history
your bark is thick
this I can see
you're really not 
that different from me.

April 3rd

A new text pops up on my phone.
I see your name and my stomach does a flip.
"Thinking of you." colon. end parenthesis.

Sometimes I like to imagine that you are here,
standing so close to me that the hair on my arm stands up
in response to your body heat
instead of eight states away.

April 4th

Today the river ran backwards.
I saw it with my own eyes.
It was hailing and the sun was shining
and the river was running backwards. 

Today I killed 24 flies
but I also planted 24 seeds.
so the life makes up for the death I guess
unless some of the seeds don't sprout
or I kill more flies.

I sat at the kitchen table for almost an hour
listening to the radio 
and staring at a shadow of a pussy willow on the ceiling.
Then I got up and went to bed.

April 5th

They say spring is a time of joy and new life
but so far all I've seen is death.
Fur and feathers on the forest floor,
tiny skulls and tiny teeth. 
A broken rib and a disjointed jaw.
But dead things don't stay dead for long,
and the air is thick with potential.

I can't see it yet but I can sense it.
Like an object in your periphery 
that disappears when you look right at it
or the echo of a raven's call 
bouncing off the trees.
It hides in the leaf litter of the pregnant Earth.
The hello after the goodbye.
The inhale after the sigh.

But for now I'm holding my breath.

April 6th

I wasn't even paying attention when you appeared,
silent and stealthy.
I was stopped on the trail, 
probably checking out the new wood duck box
when I finally caught sight of you.
I froze and my heart jumped up into my throat.
I couldn't breath. 
So I just stood there 
taking in the sight of you
as you inspected the edge of the ice,
your thick fur glistening and slick,
and your tail floating behind you like a piece of driftwood. 

I felt like a teenager again
on an awkward first date
too afraid to move for fear of doing the wrong thing,
waiting to see what the other person would do next.
And then you did it.
You slapped your tail on the surface of the water
and disappeared back into the glassy depths
leaving me standing there,
dumbstruck and in awe.
I wasn't even paying attention.

April 7th

This poem was written on the back of an envelope.
I always right my best poems on the backs of envelopes.
This is not one of them.

Anyway there is a dog backing outside
and I have a slight ringing in my left ear
and I have been awake for a very long time 
and I have a lot to do tomorrow
and I really don't want to write a poem right now. 

April 8th

I've already written too many poems about you
and It's only the 8th of the month
but you've been in my dreams so much lately 
and now when I close my eyes
all I feel is you kissing the back of my neck
in a tent on the side of a mountain
somewhere in New Hampshire.

April 9th

Life is like homemade play-dough.
I looks really appealing
but then you taste it
and it is way too salty.

April 10th

I saw a secret glimpse today
into the world of two lovers,
the mountains and the clouds.
Caught in the act, 
the clouds quickly moved on
trailing tendrils that tenderly touched
the soft tops of the trees
like your fingertips used to touch
the inside of my wrist. 
By early evening 
the clouds were still lingering in the low spots
between peaks
like the thoughts of you still linger
in the quiet spaces of my mind.

April 11th

How I could have responded to your message:
You are the one who is good to me.
I don't know how else to be when I'm around you.
I'm happy when you're happy.
I care about you.
You're welcome.

April 12th

Today my body tramped through New York
while my mind meandered in Michigan.
I took a nap in my yard
while a warm breeze blew in off Lake Michigan.
The peepers in the back field
were calling all the way from Pinkney.
And the cool waters of the Huron washed over me
as I dipped my toes in the Walloomsac.
Even the birds were calling from hundreds of miles away
while I'm stuck here with my feet in the mud.

April 13th

Today was beautiful and I was really happy
so there isn't really anything to write about.
Here is a fun fact:
I haven't had sex since February 2014.
I haven't had good sex since 2011.

April 14th

Today I learned that lady bugs can bite.
It's strange how you can go through life believing one thing,
then find out that you were wrong the whole time.
Apparently it hurts a lot.
The lady bug bite that is.

April 15th

I'm really tired.
This haiku is a cop-out. 
Sorry not sorry.

April 16th

If you sit in one place long enough
you can start to convince yourself that
everything that moves is alive.
Then when something that you thought wasn't alive
starts to move,
you don't believe it.
But that blob of sand and tiny stones and a couple of little sticks
is moving across that leaf pretty fast 
and nothing else in the calm shallows of the lake is moving.
Then it is gone and your eyes refocus
on your own reflection still and clear
and you think,
if it was moving it must have been alive.

April 17th
I was laying in the grass, listening to Sylvan Esso,
my arms all cut to shit and stinging 
from putting chicken wire up around the garden
and my heart was beating in time with the song as she sang:

All I want from you is a letter and to be your distant lover.

A plane was flying low, heading west.
And I thought about reaching out to try and grab it
so it could take me closer to you.

April 18th

Last night the neighbor's barn burned down.
Now I stare intently at everything around me,
trying to burn it into my memory
in case I wake up one morning and it is gone.
I study the old drive-in movie theater down the street
that I have never been to.
I watch the cows across in the field sitting under the shade of an old tree.
I run my hands over the bark of the 300 year old sycamore 
in front of my house.
I take pictures of you by the garden
and I let the mosquito bite me.

Some species of mayfly only live for five minutes
in their adult stage.
They fly into the air, looking for a mate,
and slowly starve, if they are not eaten first,
lacking the mouth parts to feed themselves.
Every minute counts for them, and we are no different.
As the daylight fades from the sky,
and the world around us slowly fades from view,   
only to be illuminated by the bright blaze
of destruction.

April 19th

Last night I sat outside in the dark and talked to my mom for half an hour.
She is lonely and having a hard time letting herself be loved.
I guess we all do that sometimes.
Today I stayed in bed for hours
walking the line between dreams and reality.
The dreams still seem more real.

April 20th

Newt in the water
I pick you up and hold you
Then you slip away.

April 21st

Last night I had a dream where I didn't know if I was dreaming or not
so I pinched myself. 
I didn't feel the pinch, which is supposed to mean that I was dreaming
but I'm still not sure.

April 22nd

It's Earth Day and I'm wandering the woods
picking burrs off my socks.
The view from the top of the hill is hazy like an old photograph
that I don't remember taking.
The only things that I know are real
are the leaves under my feet
and the bark under my fingertips. 

April 23rd- My birthday.

Sometimes the light filters through the trees in a certain way,
and the wind tugs at my sleeve
like an anxious child,
compelling me to go
but it doesn't say where
and I couldn't go anyway
because there is a lump in my throat
made up of pieces of a broken heart
that I don't have time to fix
and I can only stand there staring,
trying to breath.

Sometimes I feel like I'm standing on a cliff 
and what I want is on the other side of a canyon
that is just big enough to hold all my fears
but they are weak and fall away under my weight
when I try to walk on them.

Sometimes I see you on the other side
and the canyon yawns like the space in my heart
that I want you to fill.
I try to fill it with odds and ends that I pick up along the way
so that I can prop my self up on them and look you in the eye
but these things are soft 
and I keep tripping on them.

I know what I have to do.
I just wish it wasn't so hard.

So I swallow the pieces of my heart
and I put one foot in front of the other
and I begin to fill the empty canyon with myself. 

April 24th

I remember when
as I child I used to go to the woods by my house.
I didn't know the name of the trees 
or what people called the frogs that lived in the pond there
but I knew the forest.
It was only a couple of blocks from my house 
but it was another world.
Unseen creatures hopped from tree branch to tree branch
and the hollows of old trees were their houses.
The X formed by two bent saplings was a sign from the others,
and to walk under one was bad luck.
Each area of the forest had a different feeling.
There was the bustling downtown of the edge of the forest by the pond
where the water spilled over the dam and into the small creek under the bridge.
Home base was a lean-to made of sticks on the other side of the field. 
And the inner woods where the trees grew tall and straight and the air was still
was the dark area. 
Sometimes I would see a deer there, and it would snap it's head towards me and stare
as if to challenge me.
Then it would disappear in a flash of white.
I used to believe in the magic of the forest.
But now I know that it's real.
I can hear it in the hawk's shrill cry.
I can feel in on the mossy rocks under the cool water.
And I can see it on the sunlit wingtips of a crow
after the sun has already dipped below the horizon.

April 25th

The other night I was startled awake by your lips gently kissing my temple.
The feeling lingered so long I thought it must have been real.
In another dream my car broke down when I was on my way to go see you
and I cried in front of the mechanic at an old repair shop.

Now I'm sitting behind my house in the earl dusk of late April.
The light shining on the hill behind the back field has faded to gray
and the birds are singing their last songs for the day.
It is cold and I'm getting ready to go back inside.
I look to the hill again and it is illuminated once more.
The golden rays are straining to reach the tops of the trees.
But still it lingers.

April 26th

There is a metal relief of the valley where I live
on top of a hill by my house.
I depicts a battle that took place a long time ago
that supposedly was the turning point
of the turning point
of the revolutionary war.
The map has a tiny metal box with a pointed top
that represents the house I currently live in.
There is a shallow trench that runs through the valley
between metal mounds
that is supposed to be the river.
When the sky gets dark like it did today
and it starts to rain really hard,
the water collects in this trench 
and the river runs for real.

I touch the top of the tiny house
where the metal is smooth and shiny 
from being touched so many times
and I wonder how many turning points
there have been in my life
and how many more there might have been 
if I hadn't slept in and missed the battle.

April 27th

I am a wind walker.
The tops of the trees sway and clack 
when I walk by.
Sometimes you can hear me coming,
other times I sneak up on you 
and run my fingers along the nape of your neck
and up through your hair.
Sometimes you turn towards me and smile.
Sometimes you turn away and shield yourself against me
and I don't know why.
I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable. 
I'm just trying to be me.
I'm just trying to walk with the wind.
Whichever way it blows.

April 28th

I couldn't get you out of my head last night
and not in a good way.
Sometimes I feel like I'm squeezing too tight 
and you must feel the way my heart feels right now
and it's not a good feeling.
The harder I try to pry my fingers open
the tighter they clench.
Like a baby's fist, with a grip stronger than you would expect
of something so fragile,
but need is a strong emotion.
I don't want to need you.
I just want to love you.
But I'm not sure anymore if I can even do that from such a distance.
I think I just need to let go.

April 29th

Last night you asked if I could see the moon
because it was so bright and so clear where you were.
I told you it was cloudy here
which was true
but I was also too weary and tired to go check.

I can't tell which is farther away
you or the moon.

April 30th

The other day I stood on the shore of shaver pond
which is actually a lake, but we all call it a pond.
There were wavy ripples in the sand under the water
created by wind driven waves.
The water is still now
but the evidence of it's movement still persists. 

There were ripples in the clouds too
caused by a wind too far a way to feel.
There is a wind all around us these days.
It is sometimes had to feel where I am
but turn on any television and you will see the waves it is making.
Black men being killed by the police.
Protests and riots.

All these things seem so far away in a small mountain town,
only a mile from the border of Vermont.
I want to be a part of these winds
but I am small and my lungs are weak.
Never the less I will keep trying.
I will keep blowing and blowing until I turn blue if I have to.
Because we are not trying to create a gentle breeze.
We are trying to make waves.