To A New Ex-Husband

written by Mary Rose Betten

In harsh Spring wind I rush
to the mailbox. There in full bloom
the rose you planted. White, edged in red.
 
Each Spring you announced
the name with pride.
I don’t remember its name.
This rose you birthed.
 
Yet I recall Burn’s poem
His love like a red, red rose.
Our passion now corpse white
fringed in blood from unattended
lop-eared needs.
 
Two indeed now one.
No longer yours alone.
One instead with splitting root
and weed-sown wind.
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National Poetry Month – Winding down towards warmer days in May

April Showers, May Flowers.  What is it about the month of April.  In memory of a loved one, our poet for today is Barbara Force.
GOOD-BY

Written by Barbara Force

        I didn’t want you to leave
        You didn’t want to go.
        But lymphoma became leukemia
        And so, the end of the show.
        My lungs could find no air
        The tears streamed down my face.
        Courageously and gracefully Dan left us
        No one can take your place.

National Poetry Month…

Our poet today is Laura L Mays Hoopes

 

Who Is Spring

written by Laura L Mays Hoopes

Spring is a teenager
Energy surging,
Wet and windy,
Filled with noise.

What a season,
Lively and changeable
Innocent and treacherous
Filled with roses.

Spring goes its own road
Takes no direction
Blows hot and cold
Filled with red noses.

Spring is a believer
Whatever you think
I will yield to months
Filled with summer ploys

 

Poetry Month Day Four – Put a Poem in Your Pocket!

Keep a poem with you all day long!  Pocket Poetry  can be found at http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/406 or create your own!  Our Poets today are LIz Eisen and Erica Jamieson.

Valor

written by Elizabeth Eisen

A mother buried her son today, a brave young man who gave his life for the country he loved. Nineteen-year-old boys should be studying for midterms or texting friends during dinner or going to the beach, they should be leaving their clothes on the floor, not their blood in a foreign country. Warm spring days are for driving with your son to buy new socks, not for riding in a black limousine following the hearse. Just shy of his twentieth birthday your son is laid to rest and I pray that you saw that we were there, thousands of people lined the streets of your path from church to grave with our hands across our heavy hearts and our flags poised high, tears blurring the sunny day. Gratitude to the Patriot Riders, the veterans whose motorcycles rambled through to pave the way for your solemn journey and to the four-year-old boy holding a sign that simply said Thank You.

In honor of U.S. Army Spc. Rudy A. Acosta

Thirty Days

written by Erica W. Jamieson

There are trains in our past.  Wooden tracks that we placed introspectively through our hearts winding down hallways, in and out of bedroom doors underneath the crib and below the double sized bed that still doesn’t fit him well.  Once I was the passenger to his engineer.  I did double duty reading my novel as we traveled through phosphorous towns of make believe.  Then came bicycles, a pair of skis, a scooter, a broken arm and always boats.  He sails over wings of waves. Fish and yellow birds protect his travel.  A father follows in the dingy.  In thirty days, is it less? It will be a car, no chase boat.  Locomotion fulfilled by a small rectangular slip of freedom.  He will say Can I have the keys, and I will watch him go. I feel those small tiny knees across bare floors wobbling tush motoring his first ambulations.  See how those antecedent steps propelled him away?

Poetry Month Day Three…

Poetry goes viral!  Check out YouTube for poetry. Search Taylor Mali, Speak with Conviction, or What a Teacher Makes. Search the Dodge Poetry Festival to find clips of Sharon Olds, Coleman Banks, or  Lucille Clifton reading poetry.  Celebrate poetry  in cyberspace!
Two more poems from our writers…

In The Name Of

written by Barbara Straus Lodge

A story of mine came out in a book.

I couldn’t believe it, wanted to hide in a nook.

I used a fake name, protecting from shame

But then I wondered, at what cost comes fame?

Opportunities presented and even more as well.

My work was recognized and I felt swell.

Some readings, a radio show, even a New York literary award,

Suffice it to say, my inner critic was floored.

***

Pieces of me float everywhere “out there” and beyond.

But wait. Who am I? Am I lost, or am I found?

Is my pen name really me, or different as syllable and sound?

My words upset, shake down, maybe even more.

But still they’re my truth, born straight from my core.

As a writer, I think, my story should be pure

I must present the truth and not be demure.

The time has come to reclaim my name.

Leigh Stuart will retire; she will suffer no pain.

Barbara Straus Lodge is here to stay.

She’ll say goodbye to her pen name,

come whatever, what may.

Radiant 100

written by Laura L Mays Hoopes

Radio, radium, rays, radioactivity. Quaint, quiet, quick, quashed. Roseate, russet, radiant, rusted. Energy, enlightenment, evasiveness, entombment. Plutonium, Pluto, plumb-line, poison. Iodine-laden, invisible, inaudible, invidious. Wind, water, wildness, winter. Icy, inclement, iridescent, indecent. Human, hubris, hint, hollowness. Promising, pellucid, pallid, porous. Trembling, towering, trumpeting, trampling. Dubious, doom-laden, disastrous, dismal. Murmuring, muttering, mastering, moaning. Mutation, misery, mystery, mockery. Authority, augury, agony, anger. Politeness, pragmatism, pontification, procrastination. Tradition, trust, tsunami, tragedy. Handful, hope, heaviness, horror. Rushing, running, rowing, raving. Dim, darkness, drama, downfall. Trees, trucks, trains, tables. Cars, cables, clothes, children. Traveling, traipsing, trailing, tumbling. Regular, rocking, roiling, rickety. Walking, wandering, wasted, wailing.

Poetry Month Day Two…

Celebrate Poetry Month by having a poem emailed to you each morning!  Just follow the link here: http://www.poets.org/poemADay.php. And from our own, Mary Rose Betten and Laura Beasley add their voice to our Poetry Month Collective!

Love Children

written by Mary Rose Betten

Who cares for my words

once they are written?

Do they go homeless

once they have been penned?

They tumble

down

the

hallways

of my mind

hooting

laughing

aimless

naked children

running

from their bath

I catch them

towel them

tuck them in

Lie with them

alone

in the dark

The Easter Bunny

written by Laura Beasley

The Easter Bunny came early this year,

But he gave me something I truly do fear.

Like an egg in my neck, they call it a mass.

It means I’ll be put under by gas

On the day the surgeon cuts into my neck

To remove the egg-mass, oh what the heck!

It could be cancer or it might be benign,

Perhaps I’ll die soon or for decades, be fine.

I’ll get a scar in my neck, something real I can feel,

Just like this pen with the ink that is teal.

I grab for my life and I try to grip hard

To all of my dreams that seem broken like shards.

My future is hazy, my future is dim.

Will I be there to love him, her, him and him?

Will I ever hold my grandbabies in arms

And swaddle them tight like burritos so warm?

If you think that it’s easy to write of these things,

Then close your mouth tight and then try to sing.

April Is National Poetry Month…

In 1996 the Academy of American Poets established April as National Poetry Month.  For a month we give our attention to poetry, living poets, poetic history among all other things poetic!  There are events city wide celebrating the Poem, and poets inspiring or being inspired.  Check out the poetry links in our side bar under blogroll.  To celebrate April’s gift of poetry, the writers at TLS are dedicating our blog  to poetry.  In a challenge even to ourselves, our goal is to put up a new poem each day of the month, if not more!

Poem for April, 2011

written by Laura L Mays Hoopes

Words slip onto the page quietly

A little unwilling to be pushy when

So many around the world wonder

How long they will live?

How high the radiation?

How long until the government helps?

What is coming tomorrow?

Might it be water? Food?

But they often give thanks

That humans reach out to

Each other in spite of all the

Negative news and complaints.

That there is a tomorrow.

That we can survive.

That we love each other.

That families help.

That strangers, even strangers

come through.

The Keyboard Clatter

written by Erica Jamieson

I wonder if the keyboard feels to me the way the

quill felt to the writer of centuries ago.  My fingers

find peace in the constant dance, t to h to e – the

rhythm drum of the space bar . The pointed

quill would have dipped and then brushed

against the parchment in similar song

but perhaps without so much clattering.