Prequel to Poetry Month

April is Poetry Month, and you know what that means. It’s time for us to celebrate poetry in all its forms. Traditionally, my way of doing that is to attempt the PAD (aka, poem a day) Challenge. With luck, I’ll get to the end of the month with 30 new poems written. Fingers crossed. We shall see.

To get you in the mood, I thought I’d share a few poems that were published in my first three books of poetry, Poems from the Edge of Spring, When Leaves Fall, and A Dance of Dreams.

So without further ado, a little poetry from yours truly to kick things off for Poetry Month!

My Mother's Hands

I find comfort in aloneness
where I can let my thoughts drift
like a discarded love letter
fluttering in the breeze
inhale deep gusts of imperfect memory
or contemplate my hands

I have my mother's hands
their shape, texture, and dexterity
not finely manicured but
working hands
helping hands
loving hands

I hold her hand and we are one
in silent communication
pleading not to let go
reassurance I'm still here
speaking love through
entwined fingers and kissing palms

With my mother's hands
I stroke her face and hair
willing her to know through my touch
that I love her more than she ever loved herself
that her best was good enough
and she deserves so much more than life ever handed her

I find comfort in aloneness
for I am never alone
My mother is always there
in my hands
and in my heart

from Poems from the Edge of Spring © 2011

A Mistake Has Been Made

A mistake has been made.
Whoever is in charge
of the grand scheme of things
screwed up royally.
My dream house was meant to be
perpetually clean—
i.e., self-cleaning.

I was meant for better things
than cleaning toilets,
dusting, vacuuming,
washing dishes and scrubbing floors.
I keep putting it off,
expecting someone else
to take care of it,
(The Brownies, maybe?)
but they never do.

Something is very wrong here.
The housework is not taking care of itself.
The clutter grows deeper and
if it's true what they say about dust
being largely composed of human skin,
there's enough of it here that
I should be able to create
a butler, 
a couple of maids,
and a hunky lawn boy
to take care of things.

Maybe I should make some time
to research the possibilities
tomorrow.

from When Leaves Fall © 2012

The Persistence of Memory

Wandering through this desert world,
so hot the clocks are melting,
I stretch out my tongue to drink in time.
The precious moments of life
revive this dehydrated soul.
The persistence of memory,
the good, the bad, the happy, the sad,
lifts my eyes to the mountain horizon;
it's snowy peaks give me strength
to rise and walk on.

from A Dance of Dreams ©2015