Soooooo, time to begin the April Poem-A-Day challenge! I can tell from the site traffic and personal emails waiting for me this morning that everyone is chomping at the bit to get started. I don’t blame you. This is exciting for me as well.
We’ll start off with a softball (no reason to pull any muscles on the first day of the challenge, right?): Since today is the first day of the month, write a poem about a first or a series of firsts. This first could be a first love, first job, first funeral, first marriage, first divorce, first child, first Wal-Mart shopping experience, etc. You could also flip this around to be a poem about beginnings (after all, the beginning of anything is also a first step in a process).
Since I promised I would write a poem-a-day to match the prompt-a-day, here’s a little poem I put together this morning about my first (and luckily only) cast.
“The Cast”
We kept it in a plastic bag
as if it were a comic book
or meat that needed freezing;
it hooked around my thumb
and traveled to my elbow–
the result of jumping a fence
too fast to chase down a ball
hit for a homer, my shoestring
caught and swung me to the ground
where a stone waited to fracture.
The rest of that summer, I
batted one-handed, played catcher,
and let everyone sign it.
I’ve never needed another,
and we never did find that ball.
Remember: You don’t need to write a “revised” poem; you just need to write a draft. Revision can wait until May.
Once you finish the poem, paste it into the comments below. Heck, you could just type the first draft right into the comments box. (If you do this though, copy and paste the draft somewhere else before posting–just in case any technical glitches erase your comments.)
But wait! There’s more!
Since I like to listen to classic rock stations that offer “Two for Tuesday” songs by the same band on Tuesday, well, I’m going to offer “Two for Tuesday” prompts. Woo-hoo!
If you’re not feeling that initial prompt, you can try this one instead. (But don’t feel obligated to write a poem for both prompts–unless you’re an overachiever.)
Extra prompt: Since today is also April Fool’s Day, write a prank poem. This could get very fun and very creative.
Okay, that’s enough for now. Get at it!
First Job (Summer Soiled)
During that summer, post-high school, pre-college
I found myself working for minimum wage
In the steamiest of environments: a hospital laundry
Toiling for long hot days, handling soiled garments and linens
In a time before AIDS, no thoughts or worries of infection
Breathing air reminiscent of a garbage dump
Yet no concerns of contamination.
“BLESS ITS CRADLE MOMENTS”
A new year! a new year is born!
- Elihu Burritt’s Journal, London, January 1, 1852
Now, 156 New Years later – that many revolutions
around the Sun, how many more around the globe –
the first news I hear is a diplomat shot
in Sudan, and hundreds dead in Kenya. All this
before dawn, before I’ve milled Colombian beans
to brew a bitter coffee. How goes the rain forest?
Can our Spring bloom without neotropical birds?
Shall swallows return to oak savannah?
Last night, the neighbor’s fire-siren shrieked
the midnight turning of the calendar.
Will this new dispensation bring us fire storms,
or just a cozy glow in the wood-stove?
You were always hopeful, Elihu. It kept you
in a forward spirit. On this first morning
of the rest of this year, show me how
to pray, like you, “bless its cradle moments!”
First Ballot Cast
Democracy is nigh
Allah be praised
Today I will make my mark
Allah be praised
My brothers say I cannot
Allah be praised
I say they will not deter me
Allah be praised
My mother’s eyes will not meet mine
Allah be praised
Still, I imagine I see her smile
Allah be praised
Inside my burka, I hold my head high
Allah be praised
I am frightened but I am not afraid
Allah be praised
We are almost there
Allah be praised
I am going to cast my vote
Allah be praised
I hear gunfire; my knees are shaking
Allah be praised
Someone is wailing, someone has died
Allah be praised
I am in the booth, a pencil in my hand
Allah be praised
My soul soars over all that have gathered
Allah be praised
I am but a woman but I have voted
Allah be praised
S.E.Ingraham
In memory of my sister of the soul, Behija Cudic, who gently reminded me, from time to time,just how lucky I was to live in a place where women take voting for granted.
April IS the cruellest month
Most any other place
Plays ordinary April fools
Jokes, at least that’s
What they tell me
It’s only here
Where one expects
To see showers and flowers
And wakes to bowers
And drifts of that white stuff
Not clouds, no
Not fog or mist or dew
Nothing so ephemeral
As any of that
Here in this place
Crouched on the lip
Of the Arctic Circle
As some wise scribe
Once penned
April fools
Are those who
Continue to dwell
Where snowfall
Tries to set world records
Every
Single
Year
S.E.Ingraham
Okay, so I didn’t get into the challenge until day 4, so I’m catching up. (Better late than never!
"Firsts"
the first time you
make love,
try sushi,
give birth,
step onto an airplane,
step onto a stage,
can be
"oh my god,
what do I do now?"
scary
but scary can become
exhilarating, can become
delicious, can become
miraculous, can become
spectacular, can become
liberating
A New Beginning
Everyday is a new beginning,
a chance to start,
again.
So make it your best,
do God’s will,
be free
of sin.
The first rain in the spring
Brings green to the hills.
The snakes come out of the ditches,
And the dust finally settles
After a long winter.
The first bright yellow flowers
Bow from the primavera trees;
The blossoms flutter to the ground
Bruised from the rain.
Bouganvilias sport bright new colors.
The sky opens
Pounds.
The rivers fill.
Six legged fellows visit the house.
I recognize the heady scent of pepper
And embrace the season.
HCM April Fool’s Day – April 1
Wheezing, barely breathing, scared
Not knowing what is happening to me
Congestive heart failure
Heart failing to pump blood
Pulmonary edema
Lungs filling with fluid
Cardiac catheterization
Blood vessels clean
HCM
Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy
Thickening of heart septum
No cure – death
by Toni Engstrom
*****
For Langston: My Teacher
Go home and write
A page tonight.
And let that page come out of you–
Then, it will be true.
Years ago, that’s just what I did!
“Occupations” was created after I read Theme from….
It was the first poetry I ever got paid for and ironically it
was published in the same magazine that featured
Langston Hughes, the man of blues–
Sitting at my typewriter I “let the page come out of me.”
It was late at night, somewhere around three.
B-o-o-m
Machines SMASHING like thunder
Z-o-o-m
Wheels spinning
Clocks ticking, deadlines to be met.
The only poetry I had ever memorized on my own
remained Words of Freedom.
As months passed…writing faded
similar to lives lived that had ended.
But every now and then my teacher emerged.
“What Happens to a Dream Deferred?”
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
On a small piece of paper, one day, that had
fallen from an old dusty journal I read….
Still Here
I’ve been scared and battered
My hopes the wind done scattered
And said, “no dried up raisin here
or shriveled up prune."
I will let that page come out of me.
because I learned Theme For English B.”
by Barbara Tzetzo Gosch
*****
First Kiss
He stood there kinda nervous,
about to say "goodnight."
when something just possessed him. . .
It had to be tonight.
He fumble to embrace her,
then held her much too tight.
’cause something just possessed him. . .
It had to be tonight.
He drew her lips up close to his.
She was a pretty sight..
and something just possessed him. . .
it had to be tonight!
How wonderful that kiss was
as everything went right,
’cause something just possessed them. . .
It had to be tonight!
Paul A. Ritter == 2008
Cincinnati, Ohio
*****
when we were making plans
to move with the company
i didn’t know it would be
the first time i’d live in the south
i didn’t know it would be
the first time i’d get
a kiss and a hug from
every person i met
i didn’t know either
what it was like to
survive a hurricane
the biggest one ever
didn’t know it’d
be the first time
i suffered a major health
crisis before i could return
couldn’t imagine
i’d have two grandbabies
by the time i
got back
never fathomed
the yearning i’d have
for a state where the
winters are six months long
by Jeaneene Nooney
*****
My First Poem
My First poem
Four Lines
written a billion years ago
I remember it still…
The sun setting
took me for a rollercoaster ride
into heaven
and left me feeling
I am jetting
towards destiny.
Sally DiUlus
*****
Try, Try…No Firsts Here
The first time I tried
to send my poem through
it didn’t happen
and then I tried all the ways and means
so that my work be seen,
at least, if not read.
When nothing worked,
frustration roared, reared
I wanted to bang the keyboard hard
slam the screen I want my words
upfront, I snarled
the first time feeling thwarted
then sniffed and said,
these grapes will not be sour for me
I shall carry on undaunted
to try again
and hope this spider
the w.w.w. will finally succeed
in getting me where I want,
not climbing walls
but scintillating on screen.
Abha Iyengar
*****
My First Date
Never in my wildest dreams
I never would have thought this true
To fall for her on our first date
I hear dad’s words – “Just think it through.”
But what is there to think about
I know she is the one for me
Her red hair wasn’t my first choice
Her smile was all that I could see
And now I know that ‘love is blind’
That what I’m really after here
A beauty that goes deeper
And one that holds me prisoner
We sealed the deal – tied the knot
We’ve had two children since
I wouldn’t trade this girl I’m with
One date, one smile, I was convinced
By Don Ford
*****
Encore!
by Paula Fairbrother
Sweaty palms
And pulsing heart
The stage is bare
I play the part
I sachet in
The lights burn hot
I fear my lines
I have forgot
I see the void
The space out there
I am wondering, "God,
How is my hair?"
I open my lips
My eyes do flutter
I hope I can speak
Without a stutter
The words fly out
No mistakes are made
I know I can stand
Until the lights fade
*****
Here are some poems sent to my email inbox for Day 1.
Best,
Robert
Falling for …
It was my first time
and I was not just a little bit nervous
I was petrified!
Afraid of heights
but too proud to back out
I allowed them to get me set up.
They assured me it could take my weight
it was perfectly safe.
One of the leaders
slowly backed me to the edge of the cliff
“Now lean back” he said
Yeah sure!
But I did
until I was at right angles to the cliff
and slowly I started stepping down.
My breath came out steccato,
shaky and loud.
I felt I was going to stop breathing soon
but I kept going -
as if I had a choice.
When I finally reached the bottom
my legs were shaking so much
I could hardly stand
but the euphoria
was indescribable.
I immediately made my way
back up to the top
and demanded to go again
before I lost my nerve.
I’m still smiling about it!
© Maureen Sexton
4/1/2008 5:41:43 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
PEOPLE U DON’T FORGIVE CAN CONTROL U
A while ago I learned
People u don’t forgive can control u
I’ve conditioned my strong mind over a period
Of time not to let people phase me
During my worst trials and tribulations in
My life I was forced to stand firm on faith
To let wrongful relatives and strangers know
People u don’t forgive can control u
Giving them power to ruin your day
People u don’t forgive can control u
Giving them power to take your thoughts away
People u don’t forgive can control u
Giving them power to make u stray
People u don’t forgive can control u
Giving them power to make u disobey
People u don’t forgive can control u
Giving them power to make u forget to pray
PEOPLE U DON’T FORGIVE WILL CONTROL U
Sorry this one got lost, but it don’t
appear it was the only one.
H.Michelle Cooper
This is my second attempt to post my poem for this prompt. I hope it "sticks" this time around…
First Day of School
Thirty-eight years
Thirty-eight first days
As a teacher
New clothes
New supplies
New attitude
New beginning
Butterflies the size of pteradactyls
Me too
Fresh Breakfast
This is a new one, certainly;
the tiny tips of six fingers dipped
delicately in Monday’s morning mush-
and held motionless for the meal.
Last week it was the cup thrust
with gusto into the porridge bowl
and a giggle for every wobbling
blob launched onto mom.
I tried to post this on the original day, but it seems it did not post then. So:
Trundling for Zouhir
On my mattress,
We pulsed, separated
By a polymer.
Trundling.
We first coupled
On cracked red leather sofas
Of some boîte
Near the metro Charles de Gaulle Étoile.
One friend told me that his French
Was worse than his English.
We scrapped sounds,
Struck verlan in feet,
Stressed with wrenched accents.
We thieved the midday,
Posed on stairwells
Scurried past the Bastille,
Breathed the thick rimy fog
Down cobbled Denfert Rochereau.
Zouhir’s scrubbed hands and face
Revealed the Tunisia
I could not translate.
Sentences remained conditional,
Flecked with inflections,
Conjoined in bunk.
written about my first (and hopefully only) divorce…
——————————————————–
It felt like an eternity without love,
But when he left
It broke my heart.
My first love affair,
My marriage,
Was over.
No more being held in his arms.
No more (meaningless?) "I love you"s…
How could it hurt so much
When I thought it had meant so little?
And why did it feel like death?
Robert I don’t think my first one ever made it so write write again!
miracle baby
the chick was never supposed to make it
they take the eggs every day
and turn them into scrambled or poached
yet this one the hen
hotly protected
never leaving the roost
and one day the chick came out
walking without fear on spindly legs
a little puffball of black and brown
out among the dogs, the roosters, the hens
the mom came over
and took it under its wing
literally
and they called the chick "miracle"
the babies don’t always make it
the ones born with a hole in their diaphragm
just like my first son
discovered on his first day of life
taken to surgery within the first fourteen hours
then laying in nicu
cuddling with tubes for 7 days
where i was allowed to stroke his finger
the surgery was successful
his lungs were okay
they needed room to expand
and he needed time to grow
it was never clear he was going to make it
when they released him to me
they said it’s a "miracle"
Prank
I’ve never been one for practical jokes
And I don’t participate in
April Fools’ Day.
I don’t take pleasure in
Humiliating people.
When is a prank ever
Totally harmless?
My First Love (for Richie Darling)
My first love was in college
And still is today.
He broke down my walls
And made me feel
Like I could do anything,
Be anyone.
He gives me the strength
To get through the day.
He gives me the love I
Never knew I needed
Or thought I deserved.
I can’t imagine being
With any other man.
I have a bunch of poems to submit today. I didn’t find this challenge until the ninth, so I’ve spent the past couple of days getting all caught up. Now I’m ready for submission!
Pastel dust filters
Pulled by breath and hand
Snow scene with skaters
Cat in the bathroom
Oh wow
Gee gee gee
Mee me
Me
Warm in here
by the heater we’re
feel my fuzzy face
whiskers rub and mark my space
on your foot and leg
I sit around
happy I’m a furry flounder
Kinda steamy
Sit sit sit
Me me me
Pull my tail around your shin
Scratch my ear
I love your warm skin
Press my lip against your knee
Scratch my neck
Yah me me me
Here I sit on your fuzzy toes
Oops there’s the flush
For munchies we go
Playing catch-up on the poems. Hope that’s ok. :}
I Remember You
As my life moves on I remember
you. My first love, my first kiss,
my first lover. I hold the memories
in my heart. My soul is all the
better for having known you.
My life today is happy and full,
and yet I still remember you.
another day, the first time around
the first time i open my mind to the day
i keep my eyes closed
and reflect on the last dream
or at least the parts of it that i remember
and depending on the nature of it
i try to get back into it
or stay the hell out
and i go back to sleep again for the first time
the second time i open my mind to the day
i open my eyes for the first time
and appreciate the day with new eyes
or at least the parts of me that remember
and depending on my present nature
i get back to sleep
or stay the hell up
and i confront myself again for the first time
Our First Burglary
Our first burglary–I must make this clear–
We were not the ones burgling but the ones in fear.
Well, not so much at first in fear,
For it happened in broad daylight; it was sunny and clear.
Our adequate apartment was a four-room suite.
We even had resident cockroaches as an added treat.
The apartment was empty for most of the day
Which, I guess, left us open as easy prey.
I was at work and my husband had a college class,
That’s when the hooligans decided to trespass.
The rest of the story should now make you grin
As I relate the outcome of this random break-in.
For you see as my husband returned from his day,
He passed two teenagers in the apartment stairway.
With a friendly greeting he said, "Hello"
As they walked on by with a heavy load in tow.
They too returned a friendly "Hey-how ya doin’?"
Even though they were the ones who had just staged the break-in!
When my husband reached our own apartment door,
He found it ajar with things strewn on the floor.
He then quickly put two and two together.
What the teens carried off were our own 8-track and cassette players
He lit off after them lickety-loo
But they were long gone–so now what to do?
We called the police and gave them stereo equipment stats;
We really wanted them to catch the dirty rats!
I know the greatest loss was the equipment we had to replace,
But I was really annoyed ’cause they wrapped in in my brand new
pillow case!
Wanna hold your hand
By Sara L Vinas
Grew up shimmying
and shaking to
beatles "wanna hold your hand"
and
had the hugest crush
on a mountain boy
long blond hair
it was that er-a
in golden forest light
we leaned against
a fallen fir
and spoke of teen angst
Prickles of anticipation
raced up my arm
when I felt his fingers
strong and warm
claim my hand
so many firsts ago
but that golden day
lingers
I can feel
his fingers
and the thrill
still
Abnormal Results
The doctor needs to see you in the next couple of days
My hands clenched around the phone, knuckles white
What for? Something had to be wrong with my lab work
The nurse hesitated not wanting to give me bad news
Just to check the abnormal results, do more tests.
What does that mean! Less a question than exasperation
I hate knowing there is bad news and not getting full information
Can you come in tomorrow at 10:00
Id have gone in right then
The obstetrician, gynecologist and oncologist shared a waiting room
And I was surrounded by expectant mothers in various stages of pregnancy
When are you due? I endured the question
Because they wanted to share in their bliss
Oh, Im not pregnant my shell-shocked expression made them back off
They left me sitting alone, a woman with a scarlet letter
I didnt know what to expect
Hated sitting on the exam table fully dressed and still over-exposed
The results indicate you have cancer, well need a biopsy to be certain
Biopsy surgery, Excision surgery
Chemotherapy Id just rather have more surgery
One week, Two weeks, 12 weeks
Six months, One year
Remission
And for a lifetime dreading to hear
Your lab results are abnormal
You
Amidst the crowd I saw you.
Throwing cynicism aside for you,
I believed in love at first sight for you.
I followed you.
Believed I had no chance with you.
Fate sat me next to you.
With shy boldness, I complimented you.
Was that interest I seen in your eyes from you?
The clock suddenly spun, astonishing you.
With amazement, my eyes locked onto you.
I thought there could never be anyone as beautiful as you.
Curiosity and shyness flooded you,
as I tried to turn away from you.
Distractions could not tear me away from you.
I broke down all walls for you.
Finally I belonged to you.
Complete openness to you.
I lost all remaining innocence to you.
Continued on in bliss of being completely in love with you.
Suddenly a barrier was placed around you.
I tried to make it go away, but it was coming from you.
I was closed off completely from you.
Desperately I tried to reach you,
wondering what I did wrong to you.
"It’s not you",
I was assured by you
Still the distance betrayed you.
"I am moving away from here, from you,"
was said by you.
Was that a lie from you?
Was that merely cowardice shown in you?
"I have to break up with you."
Yet, I still seen you.
Desperately I tried to be with you.
Embarrassed myself completely for you.
An unwanted kiss that I placed on you.
My friends were asked to be with you,
and yet I wasn’t allowed to come near you.
Many years later, I got phone calls from you.
What a mistake that was made by you.
"I am engaged to someone else," I told you.
Did that break you?
I never did get a straight answer from you.
Until this day, I have dreams about you.
When asleep, I can see every feature of you.
My heart still pounds for you.
Until I die, I’ll still love you.
Surgeons’ Log
Entry One: Bilateral Orchidectomy
A vase of tropical blooms,
mockery,
the extinction of pollination.
Seed pods plucked
from the leathered sac
of a weathered veteran.
Two stones once pulsed,
hormonal courage,
amidst mortar rain.
Weapon’s chambers emptied,
supply lines cut,
ammo pouch sunken.
No steel in his rod
to a nightingale’s caress,
No cannonballs to launch.
Joan Huffman
4/01/2008
Bumpin’ Through Houston
She was a ’73 Fiat
Standard, cool
Shifting gears makes it real
Pea green box
Headin’ down the road
Houston, where potholes go to retire
Hit that pothole on Bissonet again
Radio station changes to country
Need to hit another one
Or suffer the twang
Bang, there you go
Station changes back to public
Eclectic, not classical
Kaboom, another pothole
Windows fall open
Push them back up
I’ll need new ductape on them
Before winter
God that car was cool.
Can’t wait to revise this one!
First base
I wasn’t good, in fact
I was awful.
(Which is probably why I ever wrote a poem.)
But I grew up thinking
This is what you do
If you’re a regular kid.
So I stood in,
10 years old, skinny and a long way from five feet tall,
27 inch green aluminum Adirondack with the smooth black rubber handle
(It was the smallest bat available)
Gripped too tight, I’m sure.
Everyone watching, even my dugout, with the assurance
Here was another "easy out".
But I stood in
Against T.C.
He was too big for a regular name,
He was 15 yards away,
And he threw hard.
Swinging at a pitch,
It was a conscious choice for me,
Made long before the ball left the pitcher’s hand.
His aim was true.
My swing stopped
The instant the fastball hit my bat–
"Cloink!"
–Arcing majestically
(The tingling in my hands told me this one was off the wall)
The ball cleared the infield
And rolled gently into shallow center field.
I rounded first and checked up,
Just like Pete Rose.
"Easy out my ass!"
the front of the line
no mans land
where no one but you stands
no path or foot steps
you got to show ‘em how to
no one knows not even you
but you in the front
trauma coming and you’ll
catch the sharps sent in
your direction for percieved
imperfection yet you projected
self into the space not traveled
you were the source of a
mystery unraveled
as they perfect
what you detected
as being possible
you are first in line
somewhere else
April Fool’s Day. . .
On April 1st I got pranked
My teacher went up in rank
He pranked me so bad
He made me mad and sad
So, I say to you,
be careful on April Fool’s day!
©Mari Beth Walmer Written for Prompt 1. I am the 12th daughter of Rodney C. Walmer. This is
my first published poem. Enjoy all.
April 1 by Gail Sandonato
First day of April,
Cold rain beats on a tin roof,
Warmth a feather bed.
Gigi
She was the first and only,
brown-haired, energetic,
always happy to see me,
always listened to me,
always there when I was sad.
Sure, she played with others,
as did I, too,
but at night
she always slept with me
in my bed,
almost 15 years long.
And now, 20 years later,
the space she occupied
is filled
by a brown-haired man
who is also loyal
and true
and who loves me
just as much
as my little brown puppy once did.
Not Today
I greet my day
with a pocketful
of enthusiasm,
but you come along
with a sprinkling
of your biting sarcasm.
From your nostrils,
dark clouds billow.
Frogs start croaking;
I need to get going.
For today, I don’t intend to ride
your mood swings.
- dodinsky
To John – The First Time We Met
First time I saw you,
I was struck and amazed,
at what a perfect man,
you were to me.
We shook hands very properly,
an ordinary thing that people do when they greet,
then I followed you eagerly,
feeling nothing ordinarly and at ease that first time we met.
Never before had a job interview,
Felt so informal, so friendly and warm.
You were in a class that was all your own,
And me, lucky girl, who got the job, got to see you every day.
Loved talking to you even then,
Your eyes, your smile, your joking and teasing ways,
A genuine kindness, interest and care in all and me,
I know I could never leave you now.
That job is over,
But our freindship is not,
It has become much warmer, sometimes hot,
Always real and still loving you too.
First Love
This is when our whole life changes.
Gone are all the reminders of our
childhood now nothing else exists.
Surely others can see it’s just us
and how much in love we are.
We talk of the days of forever when
we’ll marry and add to our bliss
at least two or three which of course
must be a boy for you and a girl for
me then our third can be either.
We’ll make sure ours will last
for so in love are we.
Lest we forget you were my
first and I was yours. So it is a must
we grow old together and be each
others last.
Susan Reichert
Day 1
April 1
My first taste
It wasn’t liquid, it was a memory,
my father’s exhaled breaths
wrapped in the stubble
of a good night kiss,
from a face I never knew.
Crawling in a world of giants
and the foreign language
of speaking,
finding the empty cans
littering the back yard,
with the drops of gold
caught in the rim of the lip,
the cigarette butts
that rattle like lost teeth
with the scent of ash
and aluminum,
taken from my hands
and replaced with
a matchbox car.
I never wanted it,
it seemed too cliché,
another Kentucky stereotype
handed out like Bibles to kids
in trailer parks or schools and quoted
in statistics on the nightly news,
another blight on the American Dream,
but after high school it seemed
like we made our own rules
and the world
was crashing down
around us.
I never wanted it,
but it tasted like home.
Seems all my posts have gone to the cyberspace "unclaimed file". But being no stranger to starting over, I’m taking it from the top.
Again!
Pas des Deux
Sing the old songs,
The ones we heard on AM radio
When DJs spun a platter,
And on first play we voted
Hit? or Miss?
Sing the old songs
Of finger snaps, toe taps
Heel clickin’, hips quicken to the
Heart tug, tear mists of time;
Back to the old place.
You dropped a quarter
In the juke box, whispering
"This one’s for you",
And once and forever
We danced, a primal prom
All our own.
Sing the old songs;
The old days,
A new time.
Start the dance.
What a great idea! I meant to do something like this last November while my friends were writing novels, but it never got off the ground. I only just discovered this today, but I’ll try to catch up and keep up.
—–
The Novice Electorate
That morning, I stepped outside
into the trail of a storm of balloons,
posters peppering the campus corridor,
and streamers blown against the railing
of the bridge to my former economics
classroom, now turned polling place. The air
so suddenly calm, even the leaves held still, as if
waiting for permission to separate
from the trees. Eagerly, I fell into line,
and inexperienced, I leaned forward to study
the poster diagramming the ballot, my open textbook
forgotten in my hands; then, my turn came,
my name announced, and I was gestured
into a blue curtained booth, living replica
of the postered lessons, and carefully,
with appropriate solemnity, and for the first time,
I ran my fingers over the paneled screen, depressed
my choice buttons, checked my vote over
as I would an exam before turning it in. So many hopes
invested in the single motion, so many miles from
the country – not a democracy – where I was born,
such tears the next day, brisk and windy,
leaves adrift, my candidate
on television, conceding the presidency.
FIRST KISS
Now that we’ve kissed;
how can I steady my heart
when I’ve felt it for the first time
and my body is begging for more
and the sky is announcing
the birth of a new star
and flowers are opening their petals
to bask in our warmth
and trees are leaning closer
and the moon is peeking through branches
to light up your eyes
and I can still feel your lips
your mouth on mine
and I have to drive away from you
taking with me, a memory, a taste
an aching in my body
and the earth is so different now?
© Maureen Sexton
The first raspberry
I remember my fascination
at the mauve jewel on my grandmother’s ivory plate
more beautiful than the now-crushed rose petals
I scattered down the aisle with self-conscious precision.
I was itching to pop it in my mouth
and discover what treasure tasted like
but I was too polite, too afraid to ask.
I remember waking in my grandmother’s lap later,
and finding my first missed opportunity
in an empty ceramic plate.
My First Funeral
The zealous anticipation
Of blowing out eleven candles
Wasn’t what held my breath
That joyless April day.
The rise and fall of your chest
I swore I saw—
God-begged was real—
Choke-chained my inhalations.
Instead of a plastic doll,
Gussied up in vanilla cake
And whip-whirled butter cream,
It was you who got buried.
Alas, resuscitating you
Wasn’t quite as simple as licking
Sugar frosting and batter crumbs
From your rigid limbs.
Out of grand-daughterly respect,
I declined a celebration,
But Mom, she late-night slipped me
An unwrapped present anyway.
That perfectly sided Rubik’s Cube
Soon twisted into color chaos,
Never to return to it unmarred state,
Just like my innocence.
Definitely not poetry but it’s my attempt…
The phone rang very early in the morning!
The girl on the phone said "mom, when the cops get there you don’t know where I am."
The mom shrieked, wide awake now, "but I don’t know where you are or what you did."
The girl said "good, then you won’t be lying" and quickly hung up the phone.
The girl, who was a slightly rebelious teenager, was rolling on the floor laughing with her friends.
When she calmed down again she phoned the mom back to say "April Fools Mom! I finally got you."
And got you she did, you still tell people about it.
The girl is still waiting for the retrobution that has been promised to her…
My First Dinner
It started with a bang
a kick
a clatter;
The heavy pan dragged through the kitchen, turning my tiny fingers red
I added everything I found in the refrigerator door:
Spices mixed with cough syrup
A pinch of ketchup stirred with tea
A garnish of the holy water my grandmother kept
in case the devil ever came a-knocking (or my father cooked a meal)
I served my art in my mother’s china
Next to orange juice mixed with milk
"Dinner is served!" I grinned, so proud…
My parents faked smiles while they slowly poured their meal down the drain
and stained the sink pink
My Granddaughter.
Today is the end of normal and the start of something fantasitical.
You, my dear child, were born.
We found out there were problems and issues, but the did not matter as you were removed from Momma’s womb and cleaned up, that little jelly doughnut sitting on you back, translucent and winking with ear move of your body.
Your voice and spirit are strong and we all vow to keep it that way.
My writing has never been anymore than describing a scene as it takes life within my head. This day I was in a "silly" mood and wanted to write about a depressed state of mind, but each time the scene became funny, as did my mind responses.
This poem is titled:
The first time I tried to get "serious"
i’m writing a poem that prints black and white
cuz my colors are gone and money is tight
the creeks flow not, the trees are bare
and the flowers have yet to sprout
the sun, no shine, the woods are bleak
and no creatures up and about
except for a skunk!..that wanders in
now I begin to shout!
get out of here you smelly skunk
and take your black and white hair!
if I’m to be in the woods like this
at least allow me fresh air!
I really should toss this one,
April Fool!
April and the morning light
rise on the brink of spring
snow and chill haunt memory
recede from pride of place,
but where is the sun?
Hide ‘n seek his April game
he peeks from curtains
of mist, of rain:
Another jest for April 1,
Nature’s joke a cruel one.
Carol A. Stephen
Ottawa, April 1st, 2008
First Teddy Bear
Soft brown coat and button eyes
Sharing life’s adventures
Loved
Worn brown coat and one button eye
Sitting on a shelf memories
Loved
Opening Day
I do not write these kinds of poems…no, really.
I am enamored of the tortured, turgid verse born of intellectual
and emotional self-consciousness, nurtured on obscurity
and suckled on vanity.
So this is a radical departure for me…no, really.
The season opens today and the team begins it’s 47th year
with hope and determination
The batters adjust their helmets
The pitchers look in for their signs
I am glued to the TV.
I watch a double play ballet and I pick up the phone…
surely my mother saw the play, as she has seen
a hundred thousand or more.
Again, I must say, I do not write poems like this.
But I cannot call because this is the first Opeing Day my mother will have missed in 47 years
and the first time I will not be able to call and complain,
commiserate over the bad call, the unwise double switch,
the blown save.
I promise I will not write like this again.
Tomorrow I will return to my emotionally distanced verse,
my John Ashberry imitations, my dear Eliot.
But today, I must make an exception.
What opens today is sure to close again.
John Mucha |je dot muchaAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
First Place Loser
First place,
Fourth place
What’s the difference,
He said.
I cried.
Fourth place is first place loser.
A New Beginning
Each day is a new beginning to the rest of my life
Each day a new challenge
A blessing given to me by God
To learn, to love, to live, to laugh.
I awake each morning
To face a new set of challenges
No better or worse than the day before
Just new.
A new set of rules
A new set of players
Each moving in a different direction
Towards a new set of goals.
The path I’ve chosen on this new day
Is one filled with sunshine
Happiness, joy and love
One spent like it was my last.
This Year
Every holiday
is the first one without my Mum.
Christmas was a black hole
of salt water tears
that lasted a month.
Every weekend is a good cry-
wrenching sobs burst warning-less
from my screwed tight face.
One moment I’m walking innocently along,
or in the shower,
or in a meeting;
the next, I have to leave the room.
Eyes overflow and throat closes.
Over and over I fall apart.
That’s how it’s been since my Mum died last summer.
This first long, cold winter
broke all records for grief,
broke my heart like hail on glass-
hard.
The First Kiss
This dating business
Mock courting
bowling and dinner
fake flirting
a walk to my house
here comes the doorstep
the moment has come
drumroll please
will he take my hand
shake it and say
thanks for a nice time
goodnight now
try to hug me
does he even know me
well enough to get close
we enter the hallway
I am strung taunt
a fish snagged on a line
in the Atlantic
I feel cold
I feel numb
how will it feel
to kiss someone who
is not my mother
not my father
Tommy comes close
puts his arms around me
he is taller than I
by a foot
I stand on the first step
to the flight that leads
to safety
to home
here it comes
he leans in
his lips touch mine
his mouth is wet, soft
yuck I say
as I pull away
I have to eat out of that thing
Serial Monogamy (or First Kisses)
On the fourth of July, in the ruins of the abandoned lighthouse on the beach below Rocky Point Amusement Park, we clambered down the stony shore and laid our motorcycle helmets on the sand. It was dark in the cold stone tower, you cupped the back of my head with your hands and drew my mouth to yours, through the open window the spinning Ferris wheel rose, bright as a full moon.
In the apartment I shared with my first lover, who was out of the country at a conference, I invited you to a poet’s party and sat at your feet all night as we drank beer and talked. After the other guests left, you leaned forward, spilling your long black hair around me like a shawl until my lips came up to meet yours.
Soft shock of electricity, tasting lust, change, tears.
In your tent at the campground on Rialto Beach, we had to rent a car just to get out of town. We stayed up late the night before, burning soup on the campstove and telling stories that danced around our desire. In the morning, sunlight spilling into the tent, crows gossiping in the cedar trees above us, I rolled over
to meet your gaze, savoring the beginning of our years.
First Line
First line, what a pain!
Second line, just the same.
Poetry used to be a game,
Before my brain became so lame.
Lame, lame, lame, lame…
Perhaps a poem every day
Will make the lameness go away!
First Grave
The church is really old you know;
it only served a hamlet.
It had a humble little yard
to lay away the dead.
But now it’s filled,
the village grown,
we had to find new land.
I used to be the undertaker–
now I’m too deep to stand.
(first prompt)
School Spanking
I once had a spanking at school.
Sitting still was always the rule
Till a circus went by
And we tried to spy
Out the window. Oh, we were so cool!
The teacher had paddle in hand
And popped everyone in our band.
‘Sit down’ was her law
So we quickly saw
We needed to meet her demand.
(second prompt)
April Fool Backfire
"Mother, dear, would you care
For a cuppa tea?"
"Why, yes, babe, how sweet it is
For you to think of me."
The sugar bowl saw me coming
With a grin upon my face.
Tea was borne back to my mom,
With salt stirred in sugar’s place.
Two cups sat on saucers same
When she pointed towards the door.
My head revolved round on my neck
As she quietly settled the score.
Switching cups so silently,
She lifted hers in salute.
"May you enjoy your cuppa tea."
One taste made me quite mute.
Don’t ever underestimate
The scope of Mother’s knowing.
The April Fool prank idea
Within my eyes, was showing.
Bit by Bit
First in line
An early bird
Don’t want to throw a fit.
Not every day I get the chance
To be chomping
at the bit.
Some looked tough
And others hard,
At least from where I sit.
But all and all
I had to say
This is as good as it gets.
Voices fill the morning air
Time to get on with it.
Those voices tell me
loud and clear,
“it’s Kibbles first, then Bits”.
© Joe MacKinnon 04/01/2008
I Remember You My Dear
I remember you my dear,
You were the person,
Who brought me,
The first thoughts of love,
I remember your soft brown hair,
You beautiful blue eyes,
The softness of your voice,
The way you told me you cared,
The way we acted together,
We acted like lovers,
Although we were still young,
We acted like best friends,
Which we were in so many ways,
We acted like things would never end,
Which sadly did,
But I will never forget you my dear,
You were the first,
The first I felt I could give my heart to,
I will always remember your soft brown hair,
You beautiful blue eyes,
Every moment in the sun,
Every moment I knew in my heart,
That life would never be the same,
I remember you my dear,
You were the person,
Who changed my life,
Changed my life forever more,
And I know in the deepest part of my heart,
I will always love you,
Love you with every breathe,
Every breathe that I take,
I will never forget you,
Because you were my first love,
A love that never leaves.
You left for college today
Excited, looking for adventure
Your older sibling’s tales
Have spurred you on.
Your first day of life without me
My first day of being an absent mom
Should I call you or send you a text
I do not know how to live alone.
Maybe I will take up painting
Or haiku, or quilting or hang-gliding
Probably I will just go to the library
And check out a bag of books to read.
A new page on an empty tablet
Your scholarships will sustain you
I will mark off the days on my calendar
Until your first day to come home.
Firstborn
Cared so much about that cat
who cried to be let in and let out,
wailed when she was hungry
and scratched the vet so badly that he made
me take her out of her carry box for shots
all the years she lived.
Each day was organized around what we thought she
wanted:
come home and feed the cat! change the litter!
Thought she was a helpless little child, we did,
until we brought home one from the hospital one hot
August,
and that cat suddenly seemed wiser, mature.
A teenager, perhaps, relieved to gain a few
unsupervised moments.
Or perhaps an ancient grandma of someone else’s family
whose role it is to sit at the newborn’s bedside and
croon, and sigh.
First
First
time to
try to write
poems by someone’s command.
well,
maybe not.
At
least I
have written poems
by suggestion—
mostly silly poems,
often with joy.
Can I go back
to writing some
after taking
pictures
instead
of creating
word pictures?
I hope so.
My First Death
How does one prepare for death to appear?
It came so sudden.
I was left to make sense of something that didn’t have sense.
What do I do now?
My first death.
FIRST FRIEND
Kindergartners swarming
to the long tables
grab a seat
find someone
hi
my name?
and you?
friends forever
best friends
the future is bright
First Time
I saw Poem a Day
I thought ‘how cool
It’s time to play’
I love to write
But I procrastinate
But this Poem a Day
Is a definite date
I wish i had paid
more attention
for to be late
was not my intention
Sunrise, sunsets
nights we’d never forget
memories-without regret
Worry-less and free, the way we were meant to be
Sun kissed skin, ocean breeze, the wind how it whipped through the trees,
for no one but you and me
First kisses, sweet wishes,
promises whispered in the dark
the river, the skyline, the park,
fumbling hand future plans, the beating of our hearts
If we could go back to that place in time, I’d be yours and you’d be mine,
all we needed to survive…
summer of oh five
Just found this and it sounds like a blast!
This one sort of fits…
How could I have ever thought that this was goodbye?
I should have known it was only a new hello.
An ending isn’t really an ending after all,
But simply a new beginning.
first
first
… kiss?
awkward, 13, Halloween party, a passage (hindsight: kissed the wrong boy! what about the one I talked to several hours into the night?!)
first
… spring?
too young, before my memory
first
… Boston snowstorm?
December 2005, descended in a blur of white-whipped fury, gone as quick as it came, pink’s rose spread across the sky and frosted ground
first
… funeral?
Michael, my brother. April 1996. His heart, done; his life, ended; his family … what word could suffice?
first
… birth I witnessed?
Gabi’s, impossibly serene, contained, powerful; eyes closed, breathing, head down, gripping the edges of the tub, cradled in warm wet, a baby girl, into the water
first
… time writing a poem at work?
today
East on 54
First time this way
a familiar road in
a new direction
Driving to the edge
in search of a dress
Through unfamiliar small towns
with familar names
peek-a-boo sunshine
warms us
Caribbean colors
in cold fresh water
stirred by a fresh
wind from the northwest
soon to switch
to blow in
summer heat
First Tampon
There was a sticky situation and I didn’t know what to do.
I wanted to go into the pool.
The pad wouldn’t cut it.
The tampon was there
I saw it
could reach it
but I heard only bad girls put things in their sugar dish
I wanted to play soccer, to race all the guys.
I thought to myself.
Yes a bad girl
I am
My finger on my earring
Blushing like a modest girl
Knew you’d criticize my O
Magazine, you think she’s a sap.
Napping on your divan
After the chicken roast
I feel you put the first down comforter
I ever felt heavy on my shoulders
Feathering my goose bumped skin
Let it fly
Smiles swirling around us
But not yours
Your mouth a letter of surprise
Confetti in the air
In your car
From the heater
And from me
A Year of Firsts
Just one week and already an anniversary
Your birthday-25 is what you would be
Then comes the day you entered the Coast Guard
Others are clueless to how hard
Each significant day that passes by
Makes me want to sit and cry
As my heart aches like there’s no tomorrow
Feeling the depth of such great sorrow
Holidays creep up and stay too long
Happy family gatherings feel all wrong
There’s those days that only we could know
As every first comes along the sadness grows
Then there’s the first faint smile
That one hurts for quite a while
And the first sound of laughter you hear
Realizing it came from you with fear
How could I dare laugh out loud
And worse amongst a crowd
What if they think that I forgot you
That all my grieving is through
No, that would only make things worse
To think I might forget during the first
The first year without you
Was the first time I truly knew
That a heart really can be broken
And words are left unspoken
Because you died and left me here
I’ll never forget that first year
That I lived without any joy
After losing my precious baby boy.
I thought nothing could be harder than the first go ’round
Yet the second was even harder I soon found
A year of firsts simply prepared the way
To once again meet up with the same day.
Challenge
I do not know if I can go that far.
This challenge can brake my thinking apart
besides, I don’t know if I can keep up,
thirty one poems might be a bit much
and somewhere I may fall right off the chart.
I see what I can do with what I have
but I still don’t know which first to select;
maybe my first marriage, or my first nest
though those are six feet under in the past.
I was trying to search back for my first thrill
and that was a maze, a very tough drill.
Yes, this is my first challenge to be part
of something that I really like to do,
I may be like a monkey in the zoo
with whatever goes first putting it last.
Almost finished and I don’t feel a crack
in somewhere around the back of my head…
I am still living, I am not dead
it was just difficult to get to start.
Now, this first poem is off from my back.
Grade 1
Before there was preschool or kindergarten
kids of all ages rode the bus
that carried me
to my first day of school.
Big brothers and sister within view
the miles long ride was fun and I did fine
until I reached
the end of the line.
It started in the pit of my stomach
anxiety crept quickly to my throat
then sat there–
I could feel the lump.
When Janey started to cry and couldn’t stop
her tears seemed for us all
and my lump
suddenly was no more.
I live Alone
At fifty-three I live alone
A first for me, but not alone
Myspace is full of me’s looking for attention
While I alone look for none.
I don’t want it, I’m fine the way I am
I have my dogs and my garden,
Who could ask for more?
I’ve never been alone, and it was hard at first.
But now I wake when I want, and don’t have to look my best
As others do when they post their pics on myspace,
Lie about my age or talk about the way I dress.
I live alone and happily
Because who do I have to impress but me?
The jackal
She hangs over me as I write
Pointing out my every trite.
My nerves twinge with every comment
Because she doesn’t know how to write.
That’s why she hired me to do the menial tasks I see
And as I type her wishes to be
She hangs above me critically.
When she is gone I revise
Her politically correct demise
And drop it on her desk to wander as
I take my leave to ponder
Her reaction.
Many years I pranked her memos
Then gave her back her dictation
After we laughed about my position
Of her memos.
We parted ways after sixteen years of
Devotion and was told
She kept my every word
In a file
Marked weird
oh here is my home page.
THE FIRST TIME
The bitter breath
Upon my face
The eternal feeling
Of flames inside
Burning in the eyes
Burning with desire
Hands are fumbling
Raking across flesh
Tearing at unknowns
That pause
Of silence
That look
Of excitement
That feeling
Of desire
Before
You take
The plunge.
First Trip By Myself
Forty-five and I’m travelling
alone
for the first time.
Alone, on the plane to England;
Alone, in London;
Alone, on the train;
Alone, to Scotland….
I am terrified.
But…
Waiting more than twenty years
for the trip of my dreams –
the trip of a lifetime –
three weeks changes who I am
and allows me
experience
of a myriad of the things I have loved from afar.
My First Poem
My First poem
Four Lines
written a billion years ago
I remember it still…
The sun setting
took me for a rollercoaster ride
into heaven
and left me feeling
I am jetting
towards destiny.
April 1, 2008
The First Kiss.
We advanced to the red leather couch; she sat on my lap and gazed into my eyes. We talked, but only for a moment was there a stunning silence. In search of what to do next my mind could only command my torso to move forward and let my lips meet hers. We laughed and both knew we did this wrong. So she smiled and we tried again
Daniel Stanford © 2008
April Fool’s Done Past; You’re the Biggest Fool at Last!
I’m not slow; I’m decisive.
I look for patterns.
I never found eggs at Easter egg hunts
because I always ran to look under the same tree
where the other kids had just found one.
And I’d learned not to jump in too soon,
A lesson I learned as a girl scout
Away at camp for the first time.
When our leaders (whom I now realize were probably
only sixteen themselves) asked for volunteers
for latrine duty, it sounded French,
so I raised my hand.
But year after year, I find that the best
April Fool’s Day pranks occur to me
on April second, just as I always think of
the most clever costumes on November first.
Timing can be everything: I overhead a girl
telling her friend that she’d pulled a prank
that backfired.
She’d told her mother she and her boyfriend
were going to have a baby.
Before she could say, "April Fool!"
her mother jumped up and down and said,
"Hooray! I’m finally going to be a grandma!"
She didn’t even act surprised or disappointed.
First Visit (Age 10)
I waited outside the psychiatrist’s office,
waited for myself.
I could hear Dr. Blaisdale’s voice
actually a croak (we called him the frog).
“Take a look at this ink blot and tell me what you see.”
I wanted to tell myself not to do it,
tell myself that the frog’s crude methods would soon be passé’
but I wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.
I heard myself say,
“what am I supposed to see?
What should I see to be normal?
Because I am normal.
Can I leave now?”
But in one of the ink blots my future was revealed
though I now see it in the past.
What that ink conundrum told me was this:
I would return to this place (where I first saw the ink blot)
and understand with uncanny clarity my future.
I could hear Dr. Blaisdale’s voice
actually a croak (we called him the frog).
“See you next Tuesday,
and the Tuesday after that.”
First Marriage 4-2-08
I want to tell you
about my first marriage.
We’re still in it.
For the duration.
I always say,
It’s the hardest work I’ve ever done
and the most fun I’ve ever had.
But that’s not strictly true.
It mostly doesn’t seem like work
when your last love
makes such an easygoing first mate.
And when you’ve shared so many firsts—
first wedding night, first one you gave your body to,
first honeymoon, first time in the Caribbean,
first apartment, first house,
first remodel-an-old-house-down-to-the-studs,
first couples’ Sunday school class, first fight,
first son, first daughter, first family business,
first day of school, first teenager, first prom, first graduation,
first year of college—
how could you turn your back on the one with whom
you shared the dreams of all those firsts?
He’s the first,
And he will be the last.
A poem for yesterday-a day late-just took the challenge
First Glimpse of Heaven
I’d read about it
I’d dreamed about it
I’d tried to imagine its beauty
But my imagination would only go so far
Streets of gold
Crystal waters
Pearly gates
Perfection all around
That’s what I expected to see
And would be happy with that alone
But it surpassed all expectations
Indescribable
Unbelievable
More beautiful than words can say
Too much for the human eyes
Or the brain to comprehend
My first glimpse of Heaven
My home for eternity
“The First Poem”
The screen glowed a shiny green.
The blank screen beckoning.
The space demanding,
screaming to be filled.
The keyboard wishing,
begging to form words.
The empty leather chair calling,
asking for an occupant.
So I sit.
Type.
Read.
My poem now complete.
Cell Phone
(tanka poem)
Tired today from calls:
Incoming, outgoing, shouts,
Txts. Comma again?
Give my buttons a break! I’m
Calling, calling, calling! Sigh.
Hunting
Palms sweaty,
black binder clutched tight
click, clack, click,
clack down the halls
Which way – this, no this,
the finish line, or the starting gate
inhale the world, and…
release
not enough for me
Dizzzy
walk through the portal
customary pleasantries
The wrestling-match of mind and world begins
Smile (grimace)
Nod (No!)
Pray for an end to the vocational torment
Where is, the perfect word
won’t know ‘til it’s too late
The poker committee stares, penetrates
quick, squash it before they comprehend
The bar is raised
Freedom is gained
precipitating the agony
My mobile teal-wheeled refuge offers no solace
Groban soothes
Finally have a job…
Wait
Simply Foolish
My students came to school today,
Prepared to work,
No, ready to play pranks and jokes
That bordered on the ridiculous.
Kick me,
Kiss me,
I love Timmy,
They taped signs to my back
And giggled with glee
As if I did not see
The absurdity of their ways.
And I played along,
Good natured, enjoying their reaction
To the seemingly endless list of assignments
I had written on the whiteboard.
Even the weather joined the hilarity:
A peek of sun, a burst of rain,
A colder temperature rushing in on the wind.
Amidst the foolish fun, an interruption,
The principal invading our space,
Taking us to a delirious place with words spoken.
“Due to a water main break in the village,
School will be closing at 1:30.”
Students whooped and hollered,
Pumped fists in the air,
(I literally jumped for joy!)
But the excitement bubble burst,
Silencing the classroom chaos
With these simple words:
April Fools!
LBC
Poem for yesterday (also written yesterday, I promise!)
The Ascension
her mother’s kitchen call lost
in the whir of translucent
wings, tiny flags
of the thousand insect nations
that lick her skin, cloud
her hair, mariposa girl, bare feet
lifted from the swirling dust
and over the wobbling hurricane
fence, lighter than the hydrogen blue
sky that opens, now, just for her
Spring Critters
First poem for the
First of Fools
Could I do it
Should I do it
I make an effort
Spilling words like
Spring caterpillars
On juicy crabapple leaves
Guess I just did
Second-time Firsts
The oldest son was an experience in firsts.
First birth, first step, first words.
Now younger sister follows.
Though second, she’s full of firsts.
First girl, first sibling, first granddaughter.
Some say firsts will never come again.
My daughter and I say different.
First Kiss
My first kiss was just a peck
Now wait a sec
What is all the fuss about
There is nothing new to shout
Seconds, no I think not
I’d rather play it’s so hot
Here’s some shade under the tree
Look up there I see a bee
There on that branch is the hive
You can kiss me again when I am five.
April 1, 2008
April, month of rain
her crazy love finds me
shoeless in snow.
Slut of a month,
who won’t decide,
just can’t decide to open
her warm doors.
Even the birds
understand my longing
late leaves barely
sheltering their nests
of unborn song.
Cool caress of light,
children shriek and chase.
I promised you something:
eyes cracking ice
heart a sky-blue egg
under a feathered dream.
I had no idea you were accepting people’s posts of their poems to your blog, yesterday, so here is yesterday’s poem:
This Part is Called the Prologue
—A.R. Ammons
1.
When setting out
to write a series of poems
documenting the passage of time
or even compose a letter
to a forgotten friend years since lost
it is always best to set the stage
with a few preliminary rules.
It won’t do to find yourself
half way into a poem just to discover
you have locked yourself
in the basement.
2.
Always look to the future in your poems.
If you must look back, be certain
to look both ways
before crossing the street
and always ask a grown-up
or policeman to help you.
Give the reader something to believe in.
After all, in the beginning was the Word
and the word was with God,
and the Word was God.
Never lie to the reader unless necessary.
Well, almost never.
3.
Rules are here to help us
and should not be cast away lightly
or without just cause. If you start
a poem without consideration
you may run aground, lose sight
of that which was first in your heart.
So take the time to mark the way
for both yourself and the reader.
A day of pranks
I don’t know how it got started
perhaps, a joke for the light hearted
a desire to be cool
or just a need to make someone the fool
it could have been a one time prank
so, there is no one to thank
for this funny tool’s way
it makes people smile
I’ve just been thankful for April fool’s day
since I was a child.
©Rodney C. Walmer Inspired by the poem a day contest.
THE BEGINNING
dark tunnel suddenly flooded with light
warm covering no longer your shield
the journey is beginning
your heart leads the way
your protector provides the extra push
to lead you to the promised land
the destination is very close yet feels so far away
the light becomes more prominent
until at last you are surrounded by it
the darkness has been replaced by severe flourescent beams,
unfamiliar sounds and touch sensations
one second, two seconds, three…
then it happens
the first breath
the first look at love
the beginning of life
perky little brother
with the sky blue eyes
think you can catch me
with those so saucy tries
is it such a bother
do you think me daft
all those bags of hammers
giving you the shaft
copyright 2008 TK Kietero
That first check
Reward for toil
Unbeknownst before
A swelling of pride
And I suddenly knew
what Dad meant
Payday still brings joy
but none so exquisite
as that first
Saturday morning
Blank clean white
Brimming with possibilities
Crisp in my fingers
Bent through the platen
Ratchet clatter
Then for a moment silence
Reverence for infinite potential
Heart in my throat
I type
Page One
A First
I am not supposed
to feel this way ever since
the day I got myself
a reminder.
And yet you
have that power to make me
feel this way.
This
confusing wat that tears
me apart inside.
But because this
reminder is etched onto me,
I can remember.
So I left my
chin up, look forward,
and hope.
First Day of College
Dad and Mom are in the front seat
I am wedged in the back between
boxes and bags filled with towels
comforters, pillows, a hot pot,
a study lamp, and clothes that
I don’t want to wear anymore
Pittsburgh is a thousand miles away
as we cross the Verrazano in our borrowed car
on our way to Greenwhich Village and my dorm
The sky is as bright as the idea I had
to have a different kind of life
"what was I thinking?" harmonizes with
"if I can make it here I’ll make it anywhere"
in my brain as I feel the air thicken
and the pace quicken
Dad catches my eye in the rearview mirror
as the New York skyline dares me to enter
will I be swallowed whole or embraced
there is no way to know
"is this a big enough campus for you?"
he asks
I smile weakly
wanting despeartely to be the girl
who I was when this was just a dream
and not the one who is carsick and scared
"Just remember," Dad says, "always act like you know
where you are going and no one will stop you."
No one ever did.
when first we kissed
steel hum winterbright arc lights
pressed up against the cold
cobbles ice clinking against
toes lips dry with forgotten sun then
breasts shivering parallax the stars
ached in my throat
what was forgotten became
fingertips laced to neck button
rough rubbing zipper your breath
falling between heavy-houred streets
and fall’s freezing petunias
when first we kissed
when first we shivered
when first we
My First Kiss
My first felt pure and magical,
like a taste of sweet, natural honey.
It reminded me of a Springtime day,
so very warm, bright and sunny.
His lips were so soft and gentle,
making me swoon in sheer delight.
I’ll never forget my very first kiss,
I stilll dream about it every night.
My first love
Short little black boy
always joking around
and taking my toys.
Chasing me in the playground.
Chasing me around the merry-go-round.
Asked me for a chance
I gave him a second glance
Wore his "T" ring
He made my heart sing.
Conversations till dark
Late nights at the park
Kissing sessions in the bedroom
Mid-day visits to the correctional facility
Letters mailed and received
Girlfriends come
Boyfriends go
But time could not stop our flow.
In and out of love with other faces,
yet still our hearts claimed each others spaces.
Husband here
Baby Momma there
Two worlds, yet still our hearts remain one.
You see, my first love is still my #1.
First Fishing Trip
A pirate fishing pole, a blue life jacket
A little red fishy tied to the end of her line
She is happy and contented
On a bright blue day
just to drag and jump her little fish
Sure that she is fishing
glad the boat is calm and still
She watches her dad and uncle, casts
the way they do, excitedly reeling
in her plastic toy
Learning, watching, growing
Holding this day as superior to all others
not knowing or caring what tomorrow
will bring
Or remembering yesterday’s joys
totally immersed in the moment alone
First Kiss
Your name was Roger
Tall boy, quiet boy
Third grade girl & boy–
Why you? We planned it
like a surgical procedure.
We hid in the ravine
so no one would see.
No one could see
nose bumping on nose
glasses clinking glasses
the first time.
So we had to try again.
This time you tilted
your head and the kiss
planted just right.
The Arctic breeze
couldn’t reach down
there, deep by the
frozen creek.
We walked back up
the hill to report
our findings.
Flying High
sitting there alone
in this little plane
i watch the ground grow small
as i fly away
cars rush below me
i watch the the birds go by
soon this will be over
i have learned to fly.
First Dance
The groom stood first,
Offering his hand
His bride reaching up in smiles
Together they faced the band
“Wrong song!” she said
And waited.
They moved to the waltz,
Awkward, stiff
“Wrong song!” she whispered.
Like figures in an alpine clock
They rocked, and turned
As music plunked, changed, and
Finally found the beat.
He drew her closer
Then twirled her out
Their bodies at last in the music
All else forgotten
They bent and dipped
He twirling her,
Flinging her out
To catch her back again
Till at the end
Scooped and embraced,
He claimed his bride with a kiss.
My little boy of scabby knees
And terrible table manners
Who slept through class
And hated dinners in restaurants
Has grown into the striking man in a custom tux
Skillful,
purposeful
and in love.
1961 (A Cinquain)
Bob Dylan
just blows my mind
with words and images
that resonate inside my head
and heart
My Angel Girl
poor and pitiful
crying and purple
beautiful and perfect
was my first glimpse
of you.
tiny fingers
little feet
my heart melted
at your first
tiny cry…
and every tear
from that moment on
became mine to share,
mine to bear;
dolls and toys
ribbons and lace
friends and boys
I turned around
and she was gone;
into the world to
share and bear
her own tears
of love and joy
sorrows and fears
for her own
tiny angel.
My Knight
All my life I dreamed
A silly little girl’s dream.
Of a knight in shinning armor
One say he showed up
And much to my surprise
That knight had been
My childhood friend and first love.
Now I sit in our first home.
With my knight
I look around and
See a little girls dream come true.
I look across from me an see
My knight and feel his touch
Oh thank you dear Lord for
Making a silly little rich girls
Dream come true.
Body crumpled
in slumber
Glow of sunrise
Awakening sight
Of spring
Splashing against
A frosted window pane
It was the first time
I truly woke up.
Opening my eyes
I could finally see.
The magnitude of your love
All the world at my feet
You waiting on me to come around
The chance to set me free.
What wonderful peace I felt
When finally I knew Your love.
Everything around me faded away
All I felt was Your warm embrace.
Now that my eyes are open,
My feet are firmly planted.
I need nothing else to comfort me.
Lord, I finally see your face.
On Masters and My Dog Idgie
You came to me, Masters, in a dream
like a fire in the night,
or warm rain on a landscape covered in ice,
with a veil on your face, and I asked you
to remove it, which you did.
And I was breathstruck at your face.
I recognized it at once,
and I had so many questions,
but you told me not to speak,
and you told me that the way would not be easy
and you told me that I needed to tell the story
of this land and the story of its people
and that come hell or high water the story needed telling
and you told me it would be okay
and you soothed me back to sleep with stories of
the Armstrongs and of Aaron Hatfield and
your good friend Dreiser and the lovely Anne Rutledge
and of Porky Jim Thomas who used to sleep
on old sandy slopes overlooking the river.
And then,
I lay on the floor watching my dog,
watching sweet Idgie in her black, sleek coat
and her pointy canine snout and her eyes brighter than mine,
as she chewed a rawhide bone,
and I saw the devotion,
and like a chorus of angels I saw the devotion,
and like a chorus of angels I saw the way,
so simple in her eyes and her face,
the dedication of one to one’s art,
of the inseparable nature of art and artist,
and she showed me that the way would not be simple,
she showed me that the way would take constant
gnawing and biting and work, always work,
and she showed me that little by little I could whittle
my stone down to a statue that I could be proud of.
She showed me that I will not lead a life of glamor and glitz,
but that I must instead devote myself to the love of words,
to the craft of shaping and forming ideas into those that
others can respect and admire and feel,
and that in a spiritual way can transport them to
other times and other places where they can see
with my eyes and taste with my tongue
and know the world as I know it.
April Fools
We got married on April Fools Day
completely convinced of our cleverness.
We were April fools indeed;
mismatched and misplaced,
the intellectual poet wanderer
and the earthy worker witch.
We were friends with benefits;
only our easygoing spirits kept us together.
We lives as gypsies, coast to coast,
finally settling in my home town.
She left me in a quest to find herself,
and I am still looking for me.
My heart was unbroken
for I was ready for change
I quickly found another to love,
her opposite in heart and mind,
and do not miss my worker witch as a wife;
but I enjoyed my life as an April fool.
the floor felt normal
with the way motion flowed
across my back:
the pad of need,
the stomp of desire,
and the guilty slide of give.
That is
until I sat up and
said "no", "You can’t",
and "I won’t."
your faces a portrait of
disbelief, mistreat, unkept
weeping, and sweeping disappointment.
The first time my heart was broken
The pain was what I imagine a heart attack would feel like
The first time my heart was broken
My eyes ached, from crying, streching, looking for a reason
The first time my heart was broken
I felt scarred, scared
First time my heart was broken
I vowed never to be so open so vulnerable
The first time my heart was broken
Caused me not to trust my feelings
To check my emotions
To seek to prove the first heart breaker wrong
The first time my heart was broken
Caused me to be a seeker, not a receiver
The first time my heart was broken
Changed the course of my love life forever
A Day
Along day awaits me
Hospice care calls
The rooms are full
and sometimes the halls
The people are quiet
Sometimes they are grim
I secertly send them all love
All is not lost when life’s light grows dim
Today we will celebrate another gone home
They took the next step in the cirlce of life
They have moved forward
away from the strife.
17
The first time I watched
a porno movie I was 17,
away from home for the
first time in my life for
more than just a weekend.
Living in a co-ed dorm,
after a semester living
with a nympho roommate,
I wasn’t lookijng for more
voyeristic sex experiences.
I sat there, the youngest,
most immature girl in the
room, watching in sick
fascination the two people
fucking on the TV screen.
The other women: the failed
sorority pledge, the spastic
CPA wannabe from Hawaii and
her chubby friend, the other
girl from Alaska, all more
into the moans and groans
than I, sitting embarrassed
in the corner of the room.
I watched their amused faces
more than I allowed myself to
look at the screen. I’d had sex,
evidently not great sex, when
compared to the gyrations and
undulations those two bodies
underwent, but enough to know
my first orgasm — dry fucking
through clothes, was a helluva
lot less embarrassing than
watching dirty movies in a friend’s
dorm room my freshman year.
April begets words
formed into fresh poetry
a challenge taken
First
Funeral was my uncle Willard
buried in Sand Spring Cemetary
after he burned to death in his
home, as he sat in his chair
smoking. Was he drunk, of
course he was, I never knew
him not to be. My cousin
cried and flung herself on his
casket at the funeral. This was
the first time I had seen people
loose it. I remember my cousin’s
dress coming up as they held her back
her sickle birthmark plain as day
and I was caught up in the horror
of it all, not understanding death.
The church service was short
the family sat up front, that was
me, up front. Grandma kept saying
Adelle, breathe, Adelle, breathe
almost shouting it out. Even at
my age I knew Grandma didn’t
have to tell my aunt to breathe.
Everybody did it. If she didn’t
breathe she’d be dead but Grandma
shouted and caused a ruckus that
was hard for the preacher to shout
over.
Everyone knew Willard was a drunk
but he was good to his family
not like my Daddy who beat us
Willard wouldn’t hurt a fly. I was
shocked again many months later
when I went into Aunt Adelle’s room
where she had all of Willards pictures
on the wall, but they were gone
all of them gone now and when I
asked her she said, “he was the most
miserable excuse for a human being
that ever lived.” and that was that.
I wondered why she put on such a
show at the funeral but I didn’t dare
ask. I thought it was just one of those
adult things that I would understand
when I grew up. I didn’t.
For Fools Like Me
Ah, April!
Tis the time to rhyme,
Or read how others done it.
Thirty days to honor verse,
Epic, ode or sonnet.
Yet consider, too, the lousy stuff,
‘Cause writin’ poems is really tough.
Blissfully dedicated to all of us April fools who cannot make trees.
Let me know what you think! thanks. (currently untitled- suggestions?)
A timid shuffle along the wall
following the fragile black thread
of ants
seeking crumbs
left behind by greedy mouths.
Recoiling snails
curling into themselves
when brushed
as if their brittle shells could offer any shelter
from a careless sole.
Humankind
left to trail
a sour slimy wake
marking the path of history
until it begins…
a rough and bone thin hand
curling into itself
–the making of her first fist.
In The Beginning
In the beginning, we couldn’t stand to be away from each other.
In the beginning, we loved strong, in spite of my mother.
In the beginning, he was the other half of my heart, and I his too.
In the beginning, I was his first and he mine, it’s true.
In the beginning, I felt there was no other that could compare.
In the beginning, where he was, I was also there.
In the beginning, we didn’t really know each other like we do today.
In the beginning, we were just kids, who needed love in our own way.
In the beginning, we didn’t care if things were rough.
In the beginning, we lived for the moment and that was enough.
In the beginning, we didn’t know what our lives had in store.
20 years and four kids later, I thank God for beginnings, even more.
So at last I was first
but second to no other
The further I went
the more behind I became
It was the slowest
I’ve ever been
and the fastest of them all
I was last of the winners
but rejoiced for I was
the first of the losers
I won but lost no ground
Then I began again
to finish.
For Langston: My Teacher
Go home and write
A page tonight.
And let that page come out of you–
Then, it will be true.
Years ago…that is just what I did!
“Occupations” was created.
It was the first poetry I ever got paid for and ironically it
was published in the same magazine that featured
Langston Hughes, the man of blues
I’d sat down and “let the page come out of me”
but people didn’t really see…
A joie de vie that kept me floating and set me free
I remembered his “Words of Freedom”
The only poetry I had ever really memorized on my own
Months passed, maybe years….my writing faded
Similar to lives I had lived that ended.
Now and then Langston would emerge….
“What Happens to a Dream Deferred?” he’d written.
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Then again—
I’ve been scared and battered
My hopes the wind done scattered
How much longer would I need to feel the warmth of sun?
To bask in what was—but can never return
I don’t want to be a raisin
Or a shriveled prune
I don’t want to be minced meat of even ground chuck
Instead I will let that page come out of me.
Thank you My Teacher for writing “Theme For English B.”
First Love
Not the buxom blond
from high school or
the yellow convertible with
red leather upholstery and
not the teacher who paid
attention to me after my
years of being ignored but
that love that never ends,
that gives without expecting
anything in return,
that wonder of
all passions,
CHOCOLATE.
Lab at Sea
Like toast, he pops up
Catching the slight salty scent in the air
Reminding me that the pleasure of the sea
Doesn’t start with your feet on the sand
Or splashing through shallows
It begins with the idea of warm and the imagining
Of blue on blue layers
His first time in water, we thought
He might not swim back to shore
Paddling like a blender
He tore through foam and surf
Brown bobbing head becoming smaller,smaller, smaller
Finally he turned to us, grinning and gulping
Galloping through paradise, back to shore
Then shaking paradise all over us
So that we, too, could love the liquid
My first child
Nervous as I feel you move
Wondering if I’m ready
Blocking negative thoughts
Embracing positive ones
My angel delivered from God
Baby girl or boy doesn’t matter
I pray you are healthy
Ready to give you all I have
Never realizing the anticipation
Could be so great
Wanting to meet and hold you
Needing to love and protect you
Hoping I don’t screw up
because you are my first
With deep breaths I am convinced
I’m prepared for you
Real first kiss
I do not remember it
For I was probably to young
To even know what it was called
but
From current sweet experiences I can recall
that it was full of warmth and love
comfort I would guess
That most likely left a fluttering
Of butterflies in my chest
Most likely a magical moment
Like a genie granting wish
Which pales in great comparison
To a baby girls first
Motherly kiss.
And The Last Shall Be First
By Bill Kirk
Alas, here I am at 11 o’clock,
Trying to rhyme me a headline.
But my chance will be gone in a dickory dock,
To beat the "Poem A Day" deadline.
Will I be the "first" to get closest to 12,
With a rhyme just this side of the second?
I guess I should hurry and nail this thing down,
To be done before midnight has beckoned.
OK. So, I know it’s a stretch for this prompt.
But it’s late and my muse must be sleeping.
Have I bitten off way more than I should have chomped?
Or, is this little bite still worth keeping?
Prey
Easy
Attacking
with a silly
prank glue on the chair
passing along fake headlines
the essence of April Fools
My First Dog
My first dog was a ball of black fur
who grabbed onto my heart unlike
the turtles and goldfish before her.
We named her Lady Balzac because of her
shaggy head and she romped in the
Buffalo winters disappearing in the snow
and emerging with crystals clinging to her
face and pink tongueleading as she ran into
the snow piles again and again.
She followed us to summer camp and swam in
Lake Erie, clambered over sand and laid in the
sun, panting yet allowed the wondering hands
of all who wanted to stroke her fur their fingers
creeping beneath the coarse waterproof layer to
find the soft puppy hair still there.
Balzac left a giant hole in our lives when we lost her
in her third year during the Republican convention as
Nixon became the nominee she let out her last sounds
succumbing to a weak heart and forever tearing mine apart.
The First-Born: Arrival
He took a long time coming.
Twelve hours of me panting
trying to find breath,
nothing left to answer with
when the nurses murmured,
‘Why isn’t she using her breath to push?’
no lung power to say
I had no lung power, I’d caught a cold.
Later I found the power
to yell and swear as the pain hit.
‘Oh!’ said the nurses, gasping
almost enough to push him out for me,
‘What would your husband say,
if he could hear you now?’
They looked all of 16, the pair of them.
I didn’t bother to laugh.
Then it no longer mattered.
I thought the next push
would split me apart
from groin to crown
and that was irrelevant.
If I could, I might have shrugged.
All that mattered was getting
that baby born.
Dimly I heard, ‘It’s a boy’.
They wrapped him round
and laid him on my chest.
I was too exhausted
even to raise my head.
Afraid my weak arms
wouldn’t hold him,
‘You take him,’ I said. ‘I’m scared.’
‘How can you be scared,’ said the midwife,
‘Of such a little scrap?’
His skin was very fair,
his few fine hairs almost white.
I dropped little kisses on his forehead
when no-one was looking.
As each kiss alighted, a tiny smile
twitched his lips and his eyes opened.
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008
2/4/08
OK, so I’m fairly new to this poetic challenge thing, so I didn’t realize there was a topic until I came to post this. oops. But I think this works any way, since it’s about an awakening I’ve had.
Thanks
Who?
Somewhere in the world
people will suffer.
Who out there will serve
as the buffer?
Sometimes it seems it can’t
get tougher.
We wait for someone to
answer the call
But it seems there’s
no one listening at all
Why isn’t anyone
watching the ball?
Take a look, you’ll find
dead eyes staring
Totally incapable of a
meaningful pairing
But why are all these folks
far beyond caring?
Blame it on the movies
Blame it on books
Blame it on the TV stars
with all their good looks
Blame it on video games
Or blame the computer
But there’s only one place
to to find the mental looter
Look inside yourself for the
ultimate distraction
We’ve let all these in without
willful subtraction
You’ve got to find it in yourself
if you want to take action
Now I can’t lie
I was like that too
Preferring entertainment
‘stead of watching the news
But I realized something
that gave me the blues
I am a part of this earthly machine
I have to help to keep it green
‘Cause we only have one
you know what I mean?
People are hungry
people are dying
All for the sake of Government lying
“Keep buying Keep spending
Keep driving Keep Trying”
But all I can hear are billions crying
-Justin M. Howe
04/01/08
First Catch
I watched him as he paused,
hoped as he considered,
waited until he decided.
He picked up the ball
and ran back to me.
He dropped it at my feet,
slightly soggy.
I felt wonderfully complete!
Then…
he snatched it back.
As he ran away with it,
I swear I could hear him laugh.
(Prompt number 1)
Been Found
This may come as a suprise
something no one would believe
of all the first a person accumilates
love was one not to be one for me
it seemed like it was never to be
I was full of quite discontent
and had my hands full of responsibilty
After all
other firsts had come my way:
A job
A car
A devious little daughter
My first real look at responsibilty
Three years after the delivary of my daughter
An odd situation I was to be found
for my first love found me.
he came from far a field as love so often does
he brings out my youth
I bring out his best
six months in we’ve been put to the text
my first loves has joined the military
Sure it’s hard but he makes me proud
He is my first love and I his
He remains my one and only.
First Thoughts
My body jerks.
Everything swims around me.
Eyesight blurs.
Strange sounds echo in my ears.
Can it be Monday already?
First Kiss
I asked him to Tolo
My heart never thinking ahead
Thoughts gathered within me
He likes me
He does not
Oh but he does
Stroking my hair and neck
His lips lay softly on mine
I kiss him deep
Hold it long
Play footsie with our tongues
Our bodies close
I gasp and kiss deeper
when we were making plans
to move with the company
i didn’t know it would be
the first time i’d live in the south
i didn’t know it would be
the first time i’d get
a kiss and a hug from
every person i met
i didn’t know either
what it was like to
survive a hurricane
the biggest one ever
didn’t know it’d
be the first time
i suffered a major health
crisis before i could return
couldn’t imagine
i’d have two grandbabies
by the time i
got back
never fathomed
the yearning i’d have
for a state where the
winters are six months long
You were the first one who knew of my existence,
the first one to feel the butterfly movements
as I swam in the warm amniotic world of your womb.
Yours were the first arms I was placed in as I searched for the nourishment you would offer.
You were the one I ran to as I fell in the gravels and skinned my knee.
When I trembled in the dark my mind filled with imagined dangers
you drove all fears away with the sound of your comforting voice.
You dried my tears as a childhood love broke my heart
and kissed me proudly as the time came for me to walk down the isle to stand at my true loves’ side
You caressed my babies with a love that equaled my own
and showed me what it meant to truly love unconditionally.
You showed me how to face lack with thanksgiving,
sorrow with a humble heart,
the loss of your life’s partner with gratitude at having loved and having been loved so completely.
You showed me how to face cancer with strength and courage
And how to face death without a glimmer of fear
But you forgot to tell me how lonely I would be with you left me.
You forgot to teach me how to let you go—how to tell you good-bye.
First Fool
The first fool I was fussed
in the bent khaki light
backwards beneath the swingset,
6 at 2 o’clock and chivalrous
all wrong. The other little boys
shouted, the girls shouted,
the sun was a persimmon
bruised into night. Black eyes
dropped from trees. I saw the future
perfectly, as it would never happen
to me and my players, saddled clumsily
above a clown car dreaming of cities.
I can’t believe I wore that beret,
I can’t believe I flew
for a moment as the marching band
came around the corner.
I was so many fools. One fell off the bleachers
while another nervously washed
the pretty girl’s grey Camaro. One wore
a cheap king’s robes and taunted the town’s
mothers and fathers. The first fool
wakes up as if on suddenly a wave
and starts throwing rocks
and watches them rush forward
as if in greeting—you make the sound
sing, and just watch
the fool’s mirrors lift them
right off of the ground.
April One
April first a poem
flies to lullaby flower,
paints a poet’s soul
(I don’t know if the formating will work with this, but this is my poem on my first waltz– technically written at 11:58pm on the 1st!)
:waltz:
tentative
step is the—
ONE
two three
TWO
two three
FOUR
Two three
THREE
Two three
clutching my body pillow to my
CHEST
two three
SLOW
two three
ME
two three
LONE
two three
Good-bye
The first time
I said good-bye
to someone so close
I cried for days
wondering when
I would be able
to think again
about anything
other than you
and the hole left
in my life.
Each day
I pass your picture
and realize
I’ll never see
that smile again
or hear that laugh
or share a chuckle
or a holiday
or life
with you.
THE FIRST OR THE PRANK?
The first shall be last
And the last shall be first
Am I the last or the first
Or am I the last on the first
I’m so confused and
It’s only the first
Will this confusion last
Till the last
Or am I just an April Fool
This could be a 2-in-1
Or maybe it is just
That I hate to make a decision
First day of April almost gone,
better hurry if I am going to get this done.
First time writing a poem on here,
but not the first time writing a poem. (really)
Penguins and chipmunks have been topics for sure
First grandchildren oh there were two,
who would know I would be trying to write this
first time I have not been able to put words into rhyme!
"First Kitty"
She came to me
pure white ball of fur
pink ears still flattened down,
just six weeks old -
My first kitty.
I loved her at once;
her speed and her spunk
made her the pick of the bunch.
The only girl, born in a closet;
first jumper out of her boxed nest.
I called her Jenny
after Forrest Gump’s one love
And she could run
and jump
and climb
to get stuck way up in a tree
Find her beaming like the moon
from a branch out into the night.
My Jenny, my first kitty
just turned 12;
not as spunky
not as speedy
sleepy’s the key word
But I love her even more -
My first kitty.
In a Year of Firsts
Clearly, it’s been
over a year
(already)
From the first time
we saw you
flashing heartbeat,
clash of cells
Of feeling you in me
(it’s your move, baby)
hiccups and wind
and goalie kicks,
Unsteady, inside-out
Squeezes as you ready
to arrive
And looking
into your new(born)
eyes for an answer
as you draw breath
and complain
In your inexpressible
sorrow at being born
Smiles, squeals, laughter
food, chubby tears,
grasp, babble, chatter
caterwauling whalesongs
all your firsts are amazing
I mean, really. Literally.
Fill me with amazement
It kills me.
I promise you
it never occurred
until I started to write
that you came in second.
Second
child.
(c) Prathim Maya
Survival Lessons
The first time I donned
a climbing harness
and safety rope
was the summer before college—
three weeks of survival training
in the Bad Lands of North Dakota.
I was nineteen.
Secured by buckles,
carabiners, and
the instructor’s voice,
over the edge we went
one by one.
Amazing where you can go
when you trust your rigging
and the person
on the other end
of the rope.
Carol Brian
My First Born
Nine long months
16 long hours
21 inches long
My baby boy
First born
So small
So strong
Wide eyes
Curious mind
So active
So fun
Big smile
Belly laugh
So happy
So aware
Loud cry
Deep voice
So I hold you and you’re fine
My baby boy
I will love you forever
first utterance
the closet was small but it had a light
plenty of room with my clothes pulled tight
against the wall and out of the way
with cookies and ovaltine here on a tray
delivered by mother who promised to stay
away from my closet the rest of the day
allowing me solitude time and the choice
to leave behind chatter and find my own voice
my thoughts in the closet had nowhere to go
held captive in coat sleeves they soon learned to flow
onto the paper i held on my knees
a graceful submission creating a breeze
that grew to a whirlwind and danced in my hair
enticing reluctance to let go and dare
reveal lofty dreams that were hidden away
until in my closet they came out to play
The spring ground is warmed
by the sweet ring of white crocuses
planted on your grave
Though you are wrapped in
that blanket from Portugal
(you pawed into the ideal crumpled bed
for sleep all these years)
to keep you warm,
I am still worried that you will be cold
in the ground below.
As cold as the foot of my bed,
night after night
And as cold as the hole in my heart
without your mahogany love.
Thaw
How excited everything is to live
after so many long, cold months.
Even the crocuses begin the surface ascent,
the stems finding their pitch against a stiff April wind
while the birds sing their deliberate song for no one,
not even the world with all of its exaggerated beauty.
They are as much the notes not sung
as the ones that are. Let them praise only themselves,
and if the crocuses take credit, so be it.
Let them grip the wet dirt in their silent blooming.
April Fool
Pie in her face
I got the laugh
But lost the girl
First rodeo
Head full of tequila
New cowboy boots full of sore feet,
I stumbled and fell
on the railroad tracks
before I even had the chance
to get thrown from a horse.
Somewhere John Wayne
shakes his head and walks away
into the sunset
First Love
-I remember my first glimpse of you
-how amazing it was to catch you looking back
-exchanging words that will never been seen…
-..in a language only you and I know exist
-frozen is that time we kissed
-the sun seemed so bright that day
-an the moon never left its side
-just like you and I were…defined
-kiss come back to the place the sun never set
-this amazing you and i, i’ll never forget
-are hands held by the light, and defined by this kiss
-the first love you and i both know to exist.
old car, new to us
Ford Falcon gets us around
our very first
The Beginning of the End
Janis pours her heart out
into the slender white wires
connecting her voice to my ears.
Granite-black walls of stone
press in around the bus,
moving too fast,
making me nauseous.
I don’t love you anymore.
My First Kiss
I was 13
He 14
He made a bet
A game of HORSE
I lost
I had to stand on a log
To kiss the
6’4” basketball player
(I was born in 86)
What a start
Big blind eight six
What a start
That’s a sign it is
Flop six eight six
but the the eight never hits
Low lights
high stakes
high stakes
high stakes
but the eight never hits
HIGH STAKES
HIGH STAKES
HIGH STAKES
I’ll call
but the eight never hits
(But two would)
first time i went to work with my dad
one saturday many years ago
long before take your kid to work
was a day on the calendar
we entered the wooden crate building elevator
the vertical "doors" closed like hands
coming together in prayer
the horizontal doors closed like closing eyelids
press the button the motor cranks
we passed by all the buildings innards
visible through the crate’s two by fours
stand in the center so i don’t fall out
waiting for the eyelid to open and the prayer to end
Too soon, no, but too fast.
I wasn’t quite awake yet.
I didn’t see.
You cannot help someone who is not ready and willing
And especially not by sleeping with them.
My first was a mistake,
overreaching.
My second,
Love?
FIRST HOUSE, ON FIRST AVE.
A little girl in a little room
up the narrow stairs–an attic,
the ceiling comfortably close
and a crack in the closet
that revealed the garage below.
A big madrone cursed for its mess,
a large yard with raspberries
and a swing set. Then, when
the interstate came through,
my father walked me down
to the end of the street
to see the construction
and the cement outlines
of the homes that had to go.
Poem #1: First Mate
How many games was it, dad,
before I finally won?
I rememeber asking you to let me win -
"Just once," I cajoled,
"so I know what it’s like."
And yet you refused.
You refused.
How many matches,
how many gambits,
how many sacrifices made in vain?
An entire lifetime worth,
from the day you taught me
the movement of the pieces
until what I thought would be never
I played and lost
and played
and lost
and played
and played
and lost
and lost
and lost.
And lost.
Until that one day -
I wish I had been old enough
to mark the day on a calendar -
that one day you castled
and didn’t move your pawn
and my queen accidentally moved
to your back row
and nothing
nothing could
nothing could intervene.
I remember, it took both of us a moment
to realize what had occurred,
and we stared at the board
with both generations of our eyes.
It was a mate. My first.
It was confusion mixed with joy,
an Oedipal exhilaration -
I was at once overjoyed
and shamed.
I never understood
why you wouldn’t let me win
("Just once," my six-year old self whined)
until I won that one time
and then I realized what you taught me
("You have to earn it, son" in your deep baritone)
And this was my first real lesson -
the earliest thing I remember being taught:
Nothing is given to you in life.
You have to earn whatever you get.
And your daddy loves you.
I never forgot.
My First Kiss
By Samantha Altman
My first kiss, I dearly miss
It was such bliss.
I leaned in full of wanting,
Touching lips that would forever be haunting.
I waited so long with much surprise,
For the long of the touch always will arise.
I miss the first, I miss it so,
When innocent was above and below.
First kiss, first love, first feel,
When I was young it felt so real.
Now I’m older and much more wise
And my innocence is difficult to disguise.
I still have love,I still have bliss,
But deep in my soul I will always miss,
my first kiss.
The Dude On The Fridge
Me and my lady
My Mom and My Dad
Were enjoying the best day
The We’ve never had
There was food, always food
that makes a day right
jokes, stories laughter
A true Sunday delight
But then my dear lady
Who I met on Clarkridge
Asked my Mom, "Excuse me,
But who’s that Dude on The Fridge?"
My Mom turned to see
who she was talkin’ about
until she noticed the picture
and then, with a shout said,
"Well, that would be
Your man, and my son."
My lady was given the picture
and she said, "Oooh, he’s a good lookin’ one!"
"That chin, those lips,
Oooh, he’s turning me on."
At over 290 pounds
The chin, yes, was gone
The sexy lips remained
as did the hypnotic eyes
Then, from deep within me,
and to my surprise
I started to get jealous,
getting jealous over ME,
The me that, in that picture
only weighed 173
Now the boy, yes, was fine
as is his more hefty twin
But, jealousy, come on
Did life have to take a spin?
Like that? No, I said
So swallow, I did
Because my sweet lovely lady
Fell in love with THIS KID!
This teddy bear of a man
With arms full of love
and a heart that’s committed
like the clouds up above
So, yes I had to burn
that jealousy bridge
cuz she’s talkin’ about me
The Dude On The Fridge
As I sit and ponder the memories that flood my mind
As I sit and remember all of my first times.
I try to sort out the most special one within my heart.
I’d have to say, it would be when I first became a Mother,
I’d never been so scared although nothing was ever sweeter.
After checking for ten fingers and toes,
I could then finally relax and my eyes I could close.
I slept for just a short while.
When I looked at you all I could do was smile.
You were my pride and my joy.
After all you were my little boy.
Written by Terri Quick aka Writerbychoice ©
Details
The anesthesiologist wore blue scrubs–
the pants had hot pink drawstrings.
Shoe covers on and cap in place
over short brown hair, he was all set
to render my grandmother unconscious.
A nurse came to start an IV. I looked away,
stole sneaking glances at him instead.
I discovered his chocolate brown eyes,
long, dark lashes, so wasted on a man.
To halt the progress of the blush
rising to my face, I looked back at the bed,
saw, not a needle in a vein,
but three crimson drops on a white sheet.
Light-headed, I sank into a chair,
fanned my face, closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, he was gone,
and only then did it occur to me
that I should have spared a glance
for that important finger on his left hand.
Opening Day
The stadium is full.
Each fan dressed in team colors
knows
this is the year.
Nothing will stop them.
All the way to the World Series.
Hotdogs, cokes, garlic fries,
beer if you choose.
Kids of all ages full of hope.
Their team runs onto the field.
Nine men taking up the
gauntlet of the new season.
Starting lineups
Batting average, no
On base percentage
Earned run average
Breaking balls, fast balls
More runs batted in, please.
First pitch, strike, we’re underway.
Sharply hit to second.
Picked up and flipped to first.
One away.
182 games.
Life couldn’t be better.
A Child No More
It was dark
That warm October evening
When “Fall Festival”
Replaced “Halloween Carnival”
And politically correct
Was becoming the norm
Even in this small town
It was a first year
Of life
Of freedom
To know happiness
Pure and untainted
And in the light
Of the large orange moon
Began the first year
Of adulthood
And responsibility
Where youthful fancies
Like the photo
Taken at the “marriage booth”
At the festival that night
Became tainted and
Slowly washed away.
Firstborn
You taste the warmth
your cheek against my breast,
your tiny fingers
wound about my own;
and traffic in my mind
begins to slow,
your silent sleeping
chides my busy thoughts,
and all about us
time stands strangely still.
Where are
the timely struggles
I should feel
in giving up my days
to watch you grow?
Perhaps they’ll come,
but meanwhile snuggle close….
this is the time
for whispered prayers
and dreams.
Map of my life
waiting forever , it seemed to get a glimpse of you,
a glimpse of me
a better reflection of me
in you
breathless, shaking, holding you close
you bundled against my trembling breast
warming you against the unfamiliar cool harsh air
my hands and heart bronzed golden as I held you
You warmed me my soul down to my toes
Looking you over I saw you
I saw me
and I knew I would never be just me ever again.
I had you as a mirror ever before me
The first glimpse was enough to know
I had just given birth to me and to you
my hearts true reflection
My life compass
my new direction
You wiggled restlessly
map of my life ever before me
Poetry prompt first things, first times, first loves, so on ect
~
First Loss
Suddenly, the world stops.
Time comes to an end
everything around, frozen.
Coldness creeps in
like an undetected spider
weaving its way to a houseplant.
Fear stabbing my chest
with it’s rusty blade,
sputtering I find my voice.
Sprinting to a spot in the road
where life poured out
nothing prepared me to see this.
Touching him, saying goodbye
never knowing I had so many tears to cry,
my angel had learned to fly.
It comes every year
After a hot, hot summer vacation
When blue skies are clear
I don’t think you need another explanation,
Because it couldn’t be hard to figure
That it’s a student’s number one fear
The morning of, summer days still linger
Even when the shrill sound of an alarm screams in your ear
Yes, it’s time to get up—really, no more snooze buttons
Slowly, the drear will slip away
And suddenly a new feeling starts to sink in
Oh god, oh god, it’s the first day—
It’s the first day of school
Your stomach curdles and hurdles
You’ve done it a million times already, fool
But what if you have sit next to “Stinky Myrtle?”
And then comes the fake smiles and hugs
Everyone pretends that they wished they spent more time together
But in your head, you know they’re nuts
You would never spend at least two minutes with her
Class schedules are handed out
You cringe because you’ve got the wrong classes
God, you wanna shout
The bell rings—
It always sounds so strange on the first day
You’re allowed to be tardy on the first day
I can’t remember the first time I whispered.
I can’t remember the first time I screamed.
But who would whisper what was screamed into the dark caverns of my mind? If they listened what would I find? Is that my true question or intention. I think not. Cold or hot, slow or fast, which scream will whisper meaning to last.
My First Book
I can my fingers busily typing,
trying to hurry to meet the deadline.
The deadline I set for myself
for the new year.
To my shock, the computer crashed
and well over half was lost.
Thankfully, I typed and I typed
with time to spare.
I was relieved to send it off
thinking now I can sit back and wait
for the true test of my talent,
or so I hope (or maybe not hope).
Can I say I’m an author now?
I can’t say until the bounded book
sits resting on a bookshelf
with its pages waiting to be turned.
April Fool’s prank poem
My Hidden Mirth
My sister sat in front of TV
thinking the world was in danger.
People in a news studio
were announcing an asteroid set for us.
I was suppressing my giggles
while my sister sat watching commercials
while a note came up saying this wasn’t true
unbeknownst to my little sis.
I slinked away to let out my giggles
while they had their commercials.
My sis wasn’t the only victim
to the national prank pulled on TV.
After the movie, I confessed all
and yelled April Fool’s
to my ever naive little sis
finally letting loose the laughter.
Donating
Painless is not the word
you want to hear from the one
holding a needle above your vein,
because they are usually lying.
The prick, the trespass under my skin
to take the red gushing liquid
that keeps me going, stings.
I watch my blood travel
away from me, so unnatural.
I move away from the world,
letting the room go black—
staring at the edges, creeping
to the center. My eyes betray my journey
and someone comes to rescue me.
A prince in blue scrubs lifts my feet
into the air to keep me from fainting—
I though he should have caught me.
I had wanted a cat
since I was so small.
My father’s terrier
could not abide them.
I coaxed two waifs
to "follow me home"
and wept bitterly
when not allowed to keep them,
too young to understand
it was for their safety.
Ten years later,
I understood such things.
The old terrier died.
Our new home had mice.
Our neighbor had kittens
–they always had kittens –
barn-cat raised, excellent mousers.
All things come in time.
Two bundles of fluff,
one male, one female,
off to the vet’s
for a healthy start.
I always wanted a cat;
we didn’t want kittens
– much less, always kittens.
The doctor was asked,
the kittens too young.
He said, "Her first heat
will not be too late,
nor a moment too soon."
Cooly suburban,
long keeper of dogs,
my mother asked of the symptoms
and how we would know.
It was not in April.
Perhaps we were fools
but we were not joking.
With a knowing smile
the veterinarian
said "Ah — your first cat."
Firsts
I don’t remember firsts
only the long nights of waiting
the handmade bookshelf bending
the cats more active than me
wondering when I was
going to begin again.
First stanza for a rondeau redouble… as far as I got today…
HAPPY APRIL!!!!!
—-
Newton’s Principia
He flies free beneath God’s pure blue brilliance,
on cider-tinged air, quills quiver and twist.
Crimson stains white, the world roars its silence;
bodies of mass fall, clenched into tight fists.
Peace, Linda
My First Memory
Standing on a stool
in Aunt Bev’s kitchen,
I pressed the phone to my ear.
I heard my momma’s voice,
“Susi, say hello to your new little brother”
“Hi Tommy,” I hollered.
I waited for his answer.
“Waa!!!”
I gave the phone to Aunt Bev.
“He doesn’t like me!”
Later, Aunt Bev took me home.
Everyone was fussing over the new baby.
I kissed his little forehead.
“Hi Tommy!”
He let out a wail.
“Waa!!”
Aunt Bev got in her car to leave.
I got in, too.
Mom and Dad said, “No Susi,
You get to stay home now
with your new little brother.”
Then I cried – inside my heart
where no one could see.
Because I knew that
my little brother didn’t like me;
All he did was cry when I talked to him.
Life would never be the same!
My First Child
She arrived in this world, an angel, a perfect soul
Bright eyed and ready for everything, precious, and wonderful, my first true love.
She was amazing from day one and forever has she been an inspiration.
As I teach her to grow, she grows and teaches me, this power in such a small body.
She was my beginning and I hers.
She was my guardian angel, getting me through the touchiest times and the hurts.
Nothing will ever change the love I have for her.
Never could I image my life without her….Nysayia…God brought you to me when I needed you most.
I will forever cherish the day you were born, when my life first began and I first soared…
I was really something special.
Recently promoted from
assistant trash-taker-outer to
toilet bowl cleaning command,
I felt fresh, independent and superior.
There were three toilets in the house!
And six less-than-tidy kids who used them.
This important job could not have been
given to just any five-year-old.
With my own can of Comet
and a special assigned ratty old wash cloth,
I knew I was really something special.
My first real job; I was woman.
With such weighty responsibilities,
I, the youngest of the clan,
could no longer be discounted as “the baby.”
No, not any more.
For the first time, I was finally somebody.
While on my watch, no splatter or splash
would torment or deter a kindred crapper.
The bowls would know no squatter
and be a place pleasing for all.
I was no “baby.”
I was tidy-bowl bright, lovely lavatory literate
and provider of all plopping pleasure.
And 25 years later:
They sparkle, they shine,
they smell like fresh wintermint;
nary a curly hair taint the pristine surface.
The joy and pride rings true still
And pray for all guests, it always will!
My First Child
She arrived in this world, an angel, a perfect soul
Bright eyed and ready for everything, precious, and wonderful, my first true love.
She was amazing from day one and forever has she been an inspiration.
As I teach her to grow, she grows and teaches me, this power in such a small body.
She was my beginning and I hers.
She was my guardian angel, getting me through the touchiest times and the hurts.
Nothing will ever change the love I have for her.
Never could I image my life without her….Nysayia…God brought you to me when I needed you most.
I will forever cherish the day you were born, when my life first began and I first soared…
My First Day of School
Mother held my hand. I wanted to crawl into a hole.
I hated the ugly white sox and
The dress with what I thought was
The tacky bow. Besides, it stuck out on the sides too far.
And my naturally curly hair did nothing right, like me.
Upon entering the building, I tripped over a step and fell down,skinning my knee.
As I entered the classroom for the first time my skinned
Knee was bleeding.
All the first graders stared at me.The teacher thought I was
Something from a science fiction movie.
I could tell, although at that time of my life
I didn’t know what a science fiction movie was.
I was embarrassed that my mother had brought me.
I was embarrassed that my mother was
Older than I knew all the other mothers were.
I was embarrassed that it was obvious we had no money.
All I could think of was “When would the three o’clock bell ring?”
Linda Brown
First Day
It’s a first in a way,
This April Day
The war month rule
is not too cool
Was April spring and new to you
or was it cruel and deadly blue
First of April snow flew heavy
clogging roads and snagging sledding
trucks and cars to slide in ditches
weaving traffic and birds to pitches
off center, digging through snow filled feeders
climbing off ramps after leaders
April first
April Fool
I think I lost my rhyming tool
Birth
the human being looked frightened
looking back at a woman of question
she was little, scaley and angry
she was perplexed, exhausted and anxious
a scream of displeasure escaped her
while a cry of mixed jubliation joined in
the newness of the world smacked her
as the old life left the other
the human being began to suckle
looking back at the one called mother
First Kiss
First kiss of a young girls life
Most anticipated, with excitement deep in her toes.
Eyes closed, lips puckered
Practiced with mirror and pillow
Thousand times over
For that perfect moment
When all the stars aligned
Led to the moment
She became woman.
No Longer a Virgin
I saw the email
My submission
And the name of the
Magazine
I looked quizzical
I opened it
I won
Best poem
Never before
Money for art
Always happened
To others
Never
To me
I read it again
I smiled
This is what
It feels like
To win
4/1/8
A terracotta pot on my patio
is filled with pungent organic earth.
Spring rites demand the sacrifice of
an aromatic tomato plant that
rubs its scent on my skin as I
make it a home in the fresh dirt.
My first of the season,
the plant is a small leafy thing
that will writhe its way
through a wire cage.
And with the embracing heat of summer
it will bear round, red and juicy gifts to me
for my pure delight.
The first time I wrote,
Pen flowed black across a page
Eager for its kiss
April Fools Day
The First of the Month
I be the fool, who plays it cool
I be the joker, who laughs at himself and invites ridicule
I be the poet, who stands on the outskirts of society
I be the half-assed student, who plays dumb
I be whoever you want be to be
First Spring in Ohio
As it warmed, the rains came,
but I still dreamed of snow,
of being crushed under the weight
of a single flake
surrounded by no one
able to help me up.
I too have challenged myself to a poem-a-day at http://poet4kids.blogspot.com where I plan to write a laturne poem everyday of this month.
Here’s mine (the shape doesn’t show because no html:)
Words
Blossom
In the heart
Find blank space to
Flow
Angst
by Yasmin Amin
Whispered words, broken hearts,
Wasted muscles, hollowed dreams
Drenched in sadness, cloaked in tears
Weary strides, sagging spirits
Knowing, dreading, fearing
The known and unknown
Treading gingerly across time
Hoping, waiting, yearning
Ambitions lie prostrate!
"The Play"
My hands shook
my throat tightened.
It was the time in the play
for me to sing.
My stump sat on the stage alone,
waiting for me to join it.
The two of us beneath the lights
in front of the audience.
The people quietly waited with the occasional cough
and softened whisper.
Then I walked out in front of them,
to sit on my stump.
I was then
planted to the stage
with only my voice
and my song.
And what a show,
what a dream.
My 8th grade self
flying over the rainbow with grace.
The people clapping, then standing and clapping,
the cheers, my tears, were beautiful.
Then as I looked to the side
I saw my teacher’s face, it was as wet as mine.
He was proud of me.
Slowly, I took my bow
And I promised to never forget
How beautiful the night was …
when a little bird flew higher
than she had ever flown before,
when my little girl self
shined.
A single wasp can change a horse
From mild and gentle to a bucking force
Such was my fate that summer morn—
A bug-equine collision sent me airborne
Hands outstretched connect with rock
To take the impact, absorb the shock
A fractured wrist was the source
Of pain caused by that wasp-stung horse
A summer spent—oh, what a drag
Swimming with arm inside bread bag
The heat, the stench, the itch full-blown
Of autographed plaster o’er fractured bone
So saddle up with care, my friend
When wasps buzz near horse rear ends
The meeting will likely come to pass
Leaving you in a dreaded cast!
——————————
Yeah, it’s goofy. My apologies to any readers!
April 1, 2008
By Nan Becklean
Fools was the theme of today’s New York Times crossword
And once I saw the puns, it was even easier than usual to solve,
Mind you, it’s only Tuesday.
Come Friday, I won’t say that
Even if I know the theme right off the bat
And by the way—forget Saturday.
Sunday is another story where every other week
I find joy in the acrostic—
Although I miss Thomas Middleton’s elegance
Terribly–
His classic exchange of letters
That made it plain, speaking of fools,
He was nobody’s.
Hunting the Gawk
first of April
April fish
hunting the gawk
hoping to catch you
off your toes
made for laughter
changed locks
upside down clocks
opportunity knocks
do you answer?
take a moment
share a smile
let out a giggle
watch out
mind your step
peel your eyes
tune your ears
tomorrow is too late
today is the date
don’t wait
until next year
this memory
is worth it
~TLS
I Saw Happiness Once
I saw happiness once
In the form of a couple walking toward
A tree to carve their names in its trunk.
I saw happiness once; when a 78 year old man
Thought that he had seen his high school
Sweetheart in a post office in Hollywood
Only to realize she was too young and he
Just a drunk.
I saw happiness once when I thought I had hope.
I saw happiness all the time when I took the dope.
I want happiness to be real
Not just for me…but you.
I saw happiness…
Fool’s First Poem
"A poem a day keeps the mania awake"
As a saying comes
like leaving
my Insomnia takes on a life of its own
waking up every 3 a.m.
the size of my unknowing equals a fool’s feet
prickling this semi-closure
vaster than
a midnight seizure
delinquent light
sinful sigh
for
the kidnap of words
in a poem I have never written
yet about to invent
we never know when now will end until it begins to
end
———————————————————-
I’m not a poet, and English is not my native language, but this is fun! I was just trying to write up something before today passed… But it’s great to read all your poems! This is going to be a wonderful April!
Hit The Pavement
The shoes are too tight, my shorts are too.
Why am I out here?
Goosebumps on my legs, my arms, my…ew.
One leg up and down, then the next,
This isn’t so bad.
Hundred feet have passed
And I’m gasping and sweating
Just a quick break, the grass looks soft
I decorate it and lay beside my masterpiece
My vision blurs.
I’m never doing that again.
Days and days go by
Yet still I wonder where
Time
and you
Have gone and left me
Still wondering
Why
as we travel
on this speeding orb
busying ourselves
with the minutia
of everyday living
it is imperative
that we take the time
if only a moment
to truly appreciate
the miracle of being alive
with all the other creatures
on this small blue orb
way out here in this
outpost of one of the
gazillion galaxies
in this universe
It wasn’t love,
not even close.
Barely lust,
but mostly
peer pressure.
I was impressed
by your moves
on the dance floor,
not nearly matched
in bed.
As if I knew.
We smoked a little,
as foreplay.
It didn’t work.
A little buzzed,
a little fuss,
and we were …
Done.
only once and
nothing special.
But still…
never forgotten.
April First
On April first the last
of the redbuds bloom.
I drive down the mountain
distracted by purple
on both sides of the road.
The First Dance
by Margaret Fieland
That first date,
the first movie
where your arm
slides silkily around my shoulders,
the first shy kiss,
rose petal lips against mine,
all in the eyeblink before
the porch light comes on,
the first time you sit
at my table in the cafeteria,
while whispers flash
around the room,
the fist time you drive me
home in the old VW
you put together
from parts,
the first dance, the
first waltz where my head
nestles in the hollow spot
on your shoulder,
The first glass of spiked punch,
guzzled down in the corner
where the chaperones
can’t see us,
the last drive home.
I waved goodby,
Tears streaming from my eyes
He paused, unable to part
Sadness filling his heart
Our eyes merged becoming one
“I can’t”, he yelled
“I’m not going unless she can.”
The separation being much too hard.
Together we walked, hand on hand
To Ms Coca’s pre-kinder class.
Big Girl Now (tanka)
Interview come, gone.
My first Big-Girl interview:
Thirty-nine years old.
Not looking for newness, nor
more money, but for me. A first.
First day of summer
It’s a day every child will eagerly await
no matter what,
they just have to keep that date
when it’s done
another year will pass
before there’s a new one
forced to endure
another ten months of school
not so sure
it’s not so long
that any one can keep their cool
gotta be strong
maybe scam a daily hall pass
just pretend it’s an emergency
then raise your hand and ask
Three o’clock bell rings
first day’s done
your heart sings
that’s day one
what a bummer
one hundred and seventy nine more until summer. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 4/1/08 Inspired by poem a day challenge.
It’s probably not very good
The first one never is
But how nice of you to listen
How nice of you to smile
And not to laugh at me
For doing this
My very first poem
My First Husband
My first husband
Is my only husband
For almost thirty years
My first son
Is not my only son
My first daughter
Not my only daughter
In a world
Where two or three are common
I stayed with my first
Together we have children
Together we laugh and cry
Soon it will be like it was
At first
Just the two of us
Another first
The first day I knew
the lump was a cancer
was hot. On being told,
I went cold, and shook
all through the core biopsy
making it harder for them
to do, and I to endure.
Afterwards on a whim
I stopped in at the Zoo.
Patient keepers: elephants
pushed to move through
dust, in heat, retreating
to the pool.
There are plaques, now,
outside empty cages the size
of modern bathrooms.
They say sorry to
the tortured tigers, gorillas
with attitude, who survived
in these things.
I remembered as a child
standing paralysed, watching
their prowling and growling
antics, fearful, appalled.
Their lives, my fear,
gone with changes in
point of view.
I sat in the cafe and slurped
a large bowl of pumpkin soup
and broke bread rolls as I
broke the news to myself
at last, cutting off all
possibility of retreat.
It Hurt The First Time
It was brick red
white vinyl tassles hung
from the handlebars
I was five.
Training wheels were laid to the side.
Hold me, Daddy!
Don’t let go!
Assured of his grip on the back of my seat
I sat down and pressed my feet
against the pedals
wheels turning
bike cutting through air
I’m feeling light
I turn around to see
where Daddy went
He’s standing
behind me
watching.
I wave.
The bike wobbles and turns over.
I’ve scraped my knee.
Tears begin to fall.
He holds my hand
and pulls me up.
Get back on, he says.
Time for you to ride.
April Fools
- A Haiku
by Ann Wilmer-Lasky
unbidden, fools dance
amidst the darness of our days
unwitting, move along
My first pair of high-heeled shoes
I remember the day that I bought them,
My first pair of high-heeled shoes.
I felt so grown up and sassy,
Couldn’t wait to tell mamma the news.
Shiny and black with a peek-a-boo toe
And an eye-catching three-inch heel
Properly placed in a sturdy blue box
At twelve eighty-five, what a steal!
Dressed to the nines and ready to go,
I slipped on my high-heeled shoes.
I was ready to go on another blind date,
This time I was sure not to lose!
I wobbled and teetered all over the house
As I tried to get out of the door
My brother, he whistled and gave me a shout
As I gracefully fell to the floor.
Just what do you
think you’re doing?
Lookin’ at me as if
I grew a third eye
or somethin’
hey, it isn’t my fault
if I forgot to say
‘haveaniceday’
haven’t you heard that
one enough?
how ’bout somethin’
fresher, like,
‘don’tforgettoflush’
I don’t know.
Maybe it’s a nice day
after all.
The First Day
Flash of consciousness
Slide from dream to wake
I search for the knowledge
of Your presence
Today is the First Day
of my new life –
I stumble through the day
Hazards all around
Temptations in every sight,
every sound, every word
I look away and sigh
Today is the First Day
that I turn and walk away –
"Lord, help me"
The words tremble on my lips
Moment to moment I seek that safety
I cannot travel alone
or I will surely die
by my own hand.
Today is the First Day
that I don’t want to die –
The day finally over
I am weary and sore
My emotions are raw
from the fight to stay clean.
I turn to You again
and pray my thanks
as I close my eyes
and slide into dreams.
Tomorrow is the First Day –
and You will be there for me.
Jockeys and Nascar–it was the worst of both worlds
the drive home time waster was killing me.
I need entertaining. Badly.
And so I remember earlier when Nature blew up the afternoon
as I sat typing at my computer wondering if lightning could
find me through tiny wires.
Well, at least I would not be bored…
First Kneel to the Crown(Royal)
One sip and I thought I might gag.
Who put this poison in a bottle in my bag?
This silky brown liquid tastes of rotten hope.
But something more complex hides the true scope.
Could it be that blood is sold by the liter?
Could this be what fuels rhyme and meter?
I will sit for a spell and call on the spirits,
To whisper the truth now that I can truly hear it.
Who will join me in toast to you and to me?
I know what you’re thinking,should you stay or flee?
In the wee hours of the soul I enjoy a nightcap.
And my thoughts, wily demons, curly tightly in my lap.
T.S.Snowden (April 1 2008)
MY FIRST CAR
one day I decided
to buy a car
my first car. though I only had my license
for two days
(ut oh)
and I had no idea what I was looking for, just something with four wheels and a steering wheel preferably red
with a sunroof
and a radio that
played CDs or MP3s
it did not matter to me
and as if I owned the lot I walked right up to the salesman and said I want this one, pointing my hand
my shaking hand
at a
95 Dodge Neon
with a little dent in the left bumper
he looked at my
shaking hand
and I had some doubts
(clunkerpieceofshitflattireshscrazytestdrivemotorwhatdoesthatdoanyway)
they seemed to water the fire that had once scorched my ass
but I pushed forward
feeling a little better when asked me if I wanted to test drive it
huh?
you mean you will let me just take it?
I guess he did not know what to say
and he motioned me into the building
when I came out, I had a new car
I thought I got a good deal
a 5,000 dollar car for 7000 dollars
at 45% interest rate
stretched out for four years
at 250 dollars a month
and that nice man
even took my picture
perhaps to
hang on his wall
as the worlds most
gullible
car shopper.
on the way home
I got a flat tire.
RYGrandmas’ Little Miracles
The first time I saw this little miracle of life,
I knew things would never be the same,
But everything would be just right.
His smiles, his cries, his laughter is music to my ears
I knew things would never be the same,
For all the joy out weighs all the fears.
Now, my life is blessed even more with another miracle of life,
I know things will never be the same,
Because things could never be more right.\
Her smiles, her cries, her laughter will be music to my ears,
I know things will never be the same,
For all the joy will out weigh all the fears.
Being a Grandma is the most rewarding job in this life,
I know things will never be the same,
Because things could never be more right.
The First Cheat
Won’t blame the beer
Though it was too warm
Won’t blame the night
Though it was too cold
Won’t blame the age
Though it was too young
Won’t blame the reason
Though it was too old
Won’t blame the boy
Though he was too close
Won’t blame you
Though you were too far
Guess that only leaves me…
First rate fruit cake… the story of an emo
First off
where do you get off
calling me a whore, a bitch, and a fruit cake?
Can’t say I’ve been labeled a fruit cake before
But I can shake and bake
and I refuse to take
you up on your offer
of being called anything but what I am
and I’ll be damned
if you can just blow me off
kiss off
because you can get off
at the first stop
and just hop
your way over to her
my friends and I concur
I should tell you first and foremost
you’re the real fruit cake
and for my sake
I’m better off without you
First
Firsts that count: first breath, first kiss, first baby,
get in line behind firsts that just pass on by
Like first sneeze, first bad grade, first insult,
First compliment, first really ripe strawberry,
Life sweeps by, carrying me in its currents
trying to blur out my wish for reflection on
which things really matter.
Everything is connected
Everything has to matter.
I’VE BEEN PRANKED
Eavesdropping, I hear Pancho the dog
at the feline ear of Kit Ten our siamese cat,
saying what? Pancho and the cat, usually
at odds, one chasing the other’s tail,
but this April’s first day the two sit
muzzle to perked-up ear while I listen
from the crack in the kitchen door ajar
for eavesdroppers like me, wondering
what gives here! Pancho growls, Kit Ten
nods her chocolate-brown head, and then––
I swear it!––they give each other a high five,
little cat paw to giant dog paw, and they
go their separate ways. When I enter the kitchen,
my dinner plate filled with Cheerios
is on the floor, beside a spilled cup of Joe.
I look around for the sign that says
"April Fool!" but not finding it, I kneel
at my breakfast, somewhere four pet eyes on me,
and pretend I’m licking up my meal because
Hey, I can take a joke with the rest of them
and Pancho’s no Villa and Kit Ten sleeps in bed
with me when I catch a springtime flu.
#
(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci
THE ALMOST WORLD
A new soon-to-be-announced world
lay ready to exit God’s Womb
one still twilight moment
with midwife stars attending
but the Great Infant Hope
overstepped feet first,
kicked its way to debut,
slipped buttocks forward
(two moon slices locked in
impasse)
and All-angry/All-embarrassed
Mother/Father/God
tugged taut the umbilical string
strangling the almost world to blue.
Foetus the Failure shook infant fists
at all creation, crawled up the canal route
then died there about three ayem
swearing galactic blashemy.
#
April 1st Poem
First second or third
who has time to keep score
with all the life we’re living
marriage childbirth love hate and divorce
things move quickly and memories are long lost
working too hard and always too long
my first love left me
my first child a disgrace
my first job didn’t pay a bill
but I’m always up at firt light
Smiling Eyes
The first time I said yes, they said the child was waiting.
I saw the clear long tubing resembling straws gone a stray.
They were attached to the plastic bags mounted on clicking machines.
Clear liquid entered a 2 inch wide forearm held tight with a board
White thick liquid, milk? dripping into another, disappeared into the tiny abdomen.
How can one little body get fed by so many straws?
Wait, the child he’s verbalizing and smiling how can this be?
He‘s engaging me with his shinny brown smiling eyes.
Looking at him I feel he has become the glass.
Yes that’s it, he is the glass that holds the straws,
He is so fragile. Yet so strong.
I will learn to fill the glass, and together we will endure.
With smiling eyes.
The first time
I wrote a poem
in a box,
happened with
these few words.
First Crush.
A boy I knew, his name was Josh
Ugly booger nose pasty white boy
He was nice and kind and friendly, especially to me.
Open and Honest and fun to be around.
After a while, that’s all I saw.
I forgot he was a pasty white boy.
I enjoyed being liked by him- if only as a friend.
I liked how he always smiled at me, smiled when he saw me. Then I smiled when I saw him.
It’s wonderful to receive a smile.
My First Day as Old
I pulled into the gas station
the attendant said, “Ma’am,”
It killed me, to hear my mom’s name
Aimed at me personally.
No longer am I “honey,”
No more the flirty “Babe,”
I’m just a slow old lady
Driving 30 to my grave.
As soon as I could get away
I pulled out from the pumps
I hid my eyes behind some shades
And sobbed in great big gulps.
My youth was waving bye-bye
As I drove along the road
She flapped and grinned then turned
Her head and ran the other way.
I’ve traded in my jazzy clothes
For polyester in sensible tan
I’ve traded in my two-seater roadster
for a frumpy old sedan.
Colored contacts have given way
To glasses perched high upon my nose
My shoes, the four-inch stiletto heels
Are now one-inchers with support hose.
I’ve gotten used to Ma’am and such
Other old lady endearments
I’m only too glad to see each new day
Even if I’m only a remnant.
This is the last day
of the first day of then
now
I breathe in the inner g
no more fights
take me
beyond the shine
of the rays
digging deeper
slicing through surface
core
be
sweet
delicious
First time
last goodbye
open
up
to
Newborn Soul
cry out first
sing out first
Such a great idea…
APRIL 1, 2008
A poem a day
Will keep the munchies at bay…
Atleast that is what I tell myself
As I sit at my desk at 2:35,
Waiting for 4:30 to roll around.
My ipod is singing a random mix of
Elvis, Wallflowers, Trace Adkins
And the occasional selection from the
Pure Moods CD that I bought from
An infomercial when I was 12.
My co-workers are busily clicking,
Surfing the net just like me.
We all pretend to be furiously busy
But if a passer-by were to take a peek,
They would find:
IM chats blinking,
Email checking,
Ebay buying,
And articles being read…
…some noteworthy CNN.com pieces
And some not-so-worthy TMZ.com gossip-blogs.
I stick a piece of gum in my mouth,
A sick attempt to make my stomache think
That it is being fed.
When in reality, dinner is still hours away.
N.E. Tasker
Heaven’s Touch
[Poetry Month Challenge – April 2008 #01]
The touch of heaven
Beckons from her fingertips and
The slave I am
Becomes entwined in the lessons
Such bountiful hips can give
And the lover in me
Fights to run free
To live in her memory
Her
My own
Personal soliloquy
Her
My own personal revelry
Sitting on the waysides of life
Wondering if this passionate dreams
Is of her
Or just me
Wondering
If when I wake
Will it be us
Or just me
Don’t take this dream from me
If she is not
A part of the
Reality of me
"Khaotik’s alKhemiKalli Potent Brew" [Tuesday, April 01, 2008]
Kopyright 2008. Omavi Mafujo Ndoto. All Rights Reserved.
first time a fool
a fool always first
i heard today a friend died
and i cried
but then i thought "it’s april first"
and i laughed
but then i didn’t know
and i read more
and i wondered
and i wonder still
do i weep or laugh
or just rest in the space in between
today and tomorrow
4/1/08
The True First
My heart was beating faster than I thought it should
(buh-Bum)
Butterflies stole my breath; I’d have run if I could
(buh-Bum)
Surely there’d never be another moment like this
(buh-Bum)
I puckered up and leaned in for my very first kiss
(buh-Bum)
Who’d have thought the world was so completely unfair
(buh-Bum)
All this, and I’ve only kissed my teddy bear
Happy April Fools!
Carl
He was shy but not lacking in confidence
He was sexy but not cocky
He was authentic not made up.
He as a MAN
Energy flow strongly but overpowering
Laughter came in genlte waves but not raucously
Smiles were abundant but not false
He was a man
I wanted to fall gentley into his heart
I wanted to listen to his voice forever
I wanted to be with him
Because He was a man.
I still remember the beginning, the beginning of it all
When everything was so new and electrifying
When it all sent chills of excitement up my spine
I still remember the beginning before it all began to unwind
New things became old and consequences showed
Now I am caught somewhere between regret and hope
Old wounds refuse to mend
How am I to cope?
I remember the beginning, the beginning of it all
I am terrified of the end
Just came across this and couldn’t resist joining in-fun!
First Day of Summer
We throw the bag
into the back of the van
and head out, laughing.
The radio shares
our excitement
as we sing along,
off key and very loud.
Greeted by
shimmering water,
shovels, pails,
and laughing children.
Sand between our toes,
warm and scratchy.
Sun on our necks,
hot and dry.
We drop everything
and jump into the water.
Refreshed.
My First Job
My first job was at a festering fast food hellhole
renowned for its caffeine and breakfast pastries.
I was the tender age of sixteen.
I started work on All Saint’s Day.
Within days,
the skin on my palms burst open
with dry dishwasher’s sores,
and I thought the drive-thru headset
was permanently attached to my head.
Within months,
I had gained fifteen pounds
from free fried bread and sugar-soaked drinks.
Dark third-shift-borne circles formed around my eyes.
I got shorted about two hundred dollars’ pay,
but I was promoted to shift leader.
Woo-hoo.
Within a year,
I couldn’t stomach the shit we sold anymore
and shrank back down to a normal size.
I couldn’t listen to the mind-maiming muzak
or pretend that I gave two-thirds of a shit
about any of my customers – even the regulars.
And I couldn’t tell our new recruits,
pregnant teen bitches that they were,
to do anything but go fuck themselves.
I walked out on Halloween, and that was that.
April Fools
Why foolish April first?
This day written in purple pin- striped crocuses,
yippy olé, farewell to febrile winter’s comforters,
at last this retro popsicle
blue sky melting into
storm clouds like black ops?
This would not be the first time I knew
the sky was falling like the stock market in my plastique bones,
the earth gnawing open and giving birth
to seasons out of joint.
For whom will the mantis
give his rosary of iridescent dew,
on this day of saints and clowns,
indistinguishable?
Maria Jacketti
This is my first time posting..I hope you like it.
She harraassed me
Each and everyday.
You got to meet him.
You will like him.
I so gave in,
she was very pushy.
I drove with her to your house.
We woke you up.
And through the light,
I knew you were my mine.
The look in your blue eyes
made me fall the first time.
My first M.A.
And then I play.
I’m almost done.
Time for freedom and fun.
Goodbye to the books
And the dirty looks
From stuffy profs
With stale old thoughts.
Liberation is nigh.
Give me a high five.
Woo hoo!
"First Thought"
The first aha of the morning –
while the sun is still back of the curve of the lake
when I hear an answer to a befuddling question
when I am at peace and peering through blinds
I spy a strip of pinkorangelavender light surging forward –
is the first and best and clearest thought of this new day.
First Recital
Ten years old and shy
I wore my first long dress
Singing Brahms’ Lullaby
in German no less. All went
well until….I forgot the
words! Could I flee or
sink through the floor?
My teacher at the piano
rescued me by suggesting
a duet.I survived.
Stage fright was part
of my entire career.
MIRROR IMAGE Dreams are ones mirrors image! With eyes wide open they will disappear! Eyes closed tight they reappear! Close your eyes to reality and sleep, for a dream may take you in deep! Close your eyes in the day and wishfor a boat to sail, or just maybe you win a lottery in the mail! Is reality an illusion or does one like a little confusion! Some dream at night will be a delight,yet for some they are a fright! Some see an image in a mirror,were others just sees it diminish! A mirror image for some maybe a fantasy,were others simply see a mirror image! By John C. Van Buskirk Sr.
(a poem about my first-born son)
Holding
I once held you in my womb,
you kicked and shoved to get out,
got stuck on the way,
and entered the world
all puckered and screaming,
with a big bruise on your head.
i once held you in my arms.
you squirmed to get down
so I let you and
you ran off laughing,
fell and skinned your knees.
I’ll always hold you in my heart
even when you push me away;
My womb is empty and my arms ache;
I know at times life will bruise you
and at times you’ll fall,
but my hand is always here
to hold.
First Rites
At seventeen, we were far enough
from home to keep secrets.
We fumbled the poles into their snaps and loops,
arcing, stretching the tent like a drum
between. I wanted to be a man
so I gathered sticks and fallen
branches, cussed and cussed and cussed till the matches
took.
With the cottonwoods and the light
failing fast it became difficult
to talk. I laughed too loud. Fussed
too much with the little flame. We both
pretended to love the taste
of Winstons. I waited for you
to say you were cold. You waited for me
to ask.
We might have looked
more narrowly into the fire,
seven wood spokes
gone coal, nightbirds
somewhere softly arguing
I will I will I will
swear to God
I will.
First Kiss
Michigan Ave is busy
Traffic passing by
One hand around his
Neck, the other on my
Bag (full of children’s stories)
And then (they are on their own)
There is nothing better than
Risking life and limb
For a (new pleasure)
First (from him)
Kiss
Rebecca
“First Crush”
I was eleven in ’76…
He got my attention that year
With deep brown eyes and long black hair
And a voice I still love to hear.
Playing guitar in a rock and roll band,
I heard him most every night
From the radio I kept beside my bed
And listened to late at night.
New emotions for the very first time
Took me by surprise,
I loved to imagine him standing there—
Oh, how little girls fantasize!
You’re never a kid when you dream this way,
You’re always fully grown
And you want so much to be swept away
To a world you’ve never known.
But little girls grow up one day
And eventually see
The plans they’ve made are all in vain,
Their dreams will never be.
So they move on, looking to find
Those dreams of love so sweet
In flesh and bone, but the perfect man
Is one they’ll never meet.
Still their young hope is kept alive
Just in case they find
This perfect man they secretly
Created in their mind.
And the river,
in its infancy,
was like wild,
an April wind unleashed,
and I, first to the shore,
will ready the canoe
for the journey,
ancestors passing by
in mists rising
from the glassy surface–
frail and gossamer lace
lifting to dance
in the wind unleashed.
Our first journey,
upturning the canoe
to meet the sun,
melt the winter’s
breaking back.
And the beauty
of breaking
the river’s mirror
with our clamouring oars,
the joy in knowing
that summer soon comes,
relaxes the unleashed
April wind.
MY FIRST TASTE OF CORNFLAKES
Every time I eat a spoonful of Corn Flakes
it remindes me the first time I ever tasted it
at my grandpa’s house in Fort Qu’Apple.
I was five.
It smelled sweet,like his house
and him.
Now, when I lift a spoonful to my lips,
the scent takes me back to a hot summer,
Seseme Street on the black and white TV,
Me, looking at the oldest man I ever knew,
chomping on Corn Flakes….
like time stood still.
Maiden Voyage
Proceeding blindly
excited, unsure
into the unknown.
What should I look for?
No frame of reference,
no map and no trail
stumbling in the dark.
What if I should fail?
I take a deep breath,
question my sanity
and step off of the edge.
What will happen to me?
First Bra
We talked about “developing”
we were sitting on the twin beds
in Patsy’s room
Mary Ellen said “Mom promised
she would buy me a bra”
We all frowned, eyes widened
“You’re flat as a pancake”
we all said– or thought
we involuntarily lifted our chests,
It was a while before I got my first–
“You saw it in Seventeen” the tag said.
Rite of passage.
C.Chase
4/1/08
First Love
I saw him exactly two times a year for four years,
Because in boarding school you go elsewhere to dances,
Or the other school comes to you, a schedule that made
It easy to be in love, truly, madly and infrequently.
This kind of love never messed up my doing homework and
Didn’t make me break out my mascara in the morning.
Mostly it just created long distance bliss whenever
I got a letter from “Vermont Academy” that was placed,
With the rest of the mail, on the dorm’s living room table,
In full view of all the girls, another plus.
First love. It can be as simple as his second letter,
In terrible but lovely teenage boy handwriting, that said,
“OH NO, I didn’t know you spelled your name with one ’n,’
Now I have to go back and erase all those extra ‘n’s.’”
It thrilled me to imagine how many that might be.
Lyn Sedwick
My First Date
Nervously sitting in the theater chair,
Holding my popcorn not knowing what else to do.
Sitting here, awkwardly looking beside me, at you.
I’m still new to this whole dating scene;
My stomach fills with butterflies…Or perhaps that’s my spleen.
I never did well at anatomy; all I know is I’m scared
How do I act? How do I know if you care?
You look at me and smile in that side-way grin of yours
But I look away, bashful, and instead admire the floor.
Look at all the popcorn and trash—who cleaned?
When is the movie going to start? Oh wait, it’s not even six-thirty.
Why did we come so early? That’s right so we could talk;
But now we’re here and I’ve got nothing. My mind has suddenly been replaced by chalk.
Or something like that. I didn’t ask you to judge.
You clear your throat, shift in your chair, and my body stiffens
Accidentally, of course. That’s right—I’m brave;
If you put your arm over my shoulders, the night might be saved.
But you don’t. We don’t touch. We don’t talk. We just stare
At the blank screen. Wondering, thinking…do you even care?
I swear the dating scene should come with a book;
Of what to expect and if there is a certain look.
Maybe if I reach over and take your hand, would that be weird?
Perhaps if I look at you like this, you can read my mind,
And know that I like you, I do! So do something before we run out of time!
Just touch me somehow, make it intimate in someway!
Anything, to make me know I am doing okay…but maybe I am not.
Are you disappointed? Am I fool? Has this night been thwarted?
What have I done? What can I do? When has dating turned everyone to fools?
We look at each other, this time we don’t look away.
Your mouth begins to open like you got something to say.
I raise my eyebrows in that questioning look, but you close your mouth;
We’re silent. I really have no idea what this is all about.
For a hopeless romantic, I’m sure dumb when it comes to this–
Tonight is definitely not going to end with one small kiss;
Which is probably good because I’d mess that up too.
How do I get through to you? How do I know where this is going to lead?
What at this moment am I supposed to believe?
That’s it! I quit. I’ll say what I mean! I’ll tell you I want you,
I like you, please say you like me too!
I open my mouth; the previews begin to roll;
Wasted all that time and still stuck with no place to go.
And we’re there making fun of the previews
We have similar taste I see; you laugh at things
That I think are funny. That’s cool, right? That means something…right?
Or not. I am thinking too much again
And perhaps this date means nothing. Perhaps we’ll just be friends
Ah, figures. This is what always happens to me
For a romantic, I think I can say
I’ve flunked out of this dating game.
One year you’ve been gone
In my arms until the end
In my heart always
A small cheat because I wrote this on the first anniversary of a death. I did write the one below this morning.
The first of April
A day for fools and laughter
Why only one day?
APRIL 1
I thought I’d watch me some TV
I’d been up since four, a writing
The morning show, on channel Ten
Looked the most inviting.
The anchor guys said
"Let us cross, to Washington DC
Where our PM, Kevin Rudd
Is there with Hillary
Clinton, that is.
The sweet reporter
in innocence
Said: "I’ve breaking news.
Since Hillary hit the campaign trail
She got the mega blues.
Stand by, Australia.
I know what she’s about to say
Is gonna knock your socks
Hillary is quitting.
Stand by for the shocks
They’re coming.
Our anchor people they were stunned
Gobsmacked would be the word
For Hillary to call it quits
Nah! people, that’s absurd.
It looks like Barack and McCain
Are it.
I could feel the buzz from the screen,
The anchor folk, dumbfounded.
I sat there all bemused.
No! I was, as you say, astounded.
Hang on a bit…
Bingo! the penny made its drop
When I heard the reporter say.
Gotcha guys! It’s April One
Practical jokers’ day.
Back to the studio.
He entered my life with a scratching
Plastic poised over metal
Dust popping explosively
beneath a needle
Riding vinyl valleys
A revelation with rhythm
And melody snaking its way
from crossroads creations
to London avenues
Later he would chop down
a mountain
as I drove past one
on the way to neon,
narcotic nighttimes,
10,000 screaming, raising
their hands in the air on command
Stars close enough to ignite
dreams of stages and lazer light shows
But at the first
he was the sound of distant revolutions
33 1/3 times, out of a love
summer, simmering
And no, I was not experienced
when he asked
But he was
I didn’t have to ask
To stand next to his
Fire, but the flames touched me
leaving no ashes and the scars
were beautiful
Kenn Rodriguez/ABQ
You first
Rays of sunshine on my leaves.
I wake up and feel the dew
running away from me.
I wake up first and wait for you.
Will you be late? I want you to caress my drops,
I save them all for you.
I know you are thirsty.
Hurry. You are the first to taste my love,
you are the first to wake up under my shadow,
you are the first to be green,
you are the first to shine,
you are the first to see the
rays of sunshine on my leaves.
Sew Buttons
It’s cold
my coat blows open
it’s buttons
warm
dancing
inside my pocket
on this life’s stage, frightened
no guidance for this one…
only part written in this play
was ‘pucker up’…
first kisses tied to butterflies
stitched into stomachs
explaining the uneasy feeling inside
http://consciousme.blogspot.com/2008/04/poem-day-poem-1.html
First Day At School
"Hey you, new kid!"
"Who me?"
"Yes, you
"D’ya knmow who I am?"
"Haven’t a clue."
"Well, I’m the class monitor,"
"My word is law..
"When I say, ‘kid, drop’,
"You get down on the floor.
"If I say clean dusters
"You do as I say
"If you want protection,
well, kid, you must pay.
Two bucksfrom your lunch money
That’s all I need
I’m as honest as day
Not given to greed
Hey, kid, as sure as my name is Billjack
I’ll keep the tutors of’n your back."
I gave him the finger and lit for the door.
Stuff college, I’m not coming back any more.
Carmen is charmin’ and there’s no alarmin’ me when she’s around in my life
She cares and she bears up under the scares that wears and wears on me and my wife.
She’s there for me always
In bedrooms and hallways
And cooks most deliciously
But the one thing that pleases
Is the love that she teases from every moment we live.
If you enroll in
a new workshop every time
one poem is enough
MY FIRST EVERYTHING
My rivers have always flowed for you
My heart never stopped beating for you
Can’t describe these feelings baby
You got me going crazy
You got me blowing up your cell phone and
Wanting to drive 12 plus hours to get to your home
You got my toes curling with just the sound of your voice
I have many options but baby, you are my first choice
See you were my first everything
We just never made it to that wedding ring
I don’t have to have you sexually
Just want to lie perfectly
Still next to you fully clothed or butt naked
Want to wrap my soul around your heart and erase your past heartaches
Will you embrace me?
Will you allow me to open up my soul to you?
I do know that you love me too
I want your fingertips to trace my curves
I want to stare into your eyes without saying a word
I want to return to the day we met
I at 14, you at 16 and tell you my secrets that I know you would’ve kept
It’s been 22 years and I still feel the same
You are that sunshine, that fresh breeze after a pouring rain
You are definitely God’s gift to me and
No matter what…you always will be
Wanda Burns
Unchained
4/1/08
It wasn’t the first kiss that captured my heart.
But it certainly caught my attention.
As we sat on the naked pedestal
Of a resurrected Genius
He caught my eyes with his,
Lifted my chin gently with his fingertips,
Brushed the hair back from my face,
Leaned down tentatively,
Then gaining courage
Tasted me.
Thoroughly.
I hadn’t expected this.
I mean, sure we’d been talking for months,
Typing becoming late night phone calls,
Words becoming lifelines as my reality shifted
And his gained life and purpose again.
But that first taste, so gentle yet so fierce
And suddenly this wasn’t just a casual first meeting anymore.
I felt the stars pause, waiting, watching…
We lingered there, entwined together
Chuckling as our hair would entangle
Blowing in our faces, not to be ignored
As we explored each other’s eyes and lips.
And still the stars held their breath.
When duty finally forced its hand
And we found ourselves back at his car, avoiding that final goodbye
He took my face in his hands, his touch so gentle,
His look so tender.
And he kissed me again
Caressing my cheek with such care
Yet holding me in place
Like he never wanted to let go
A kiss of dreams.
Of lifetimes.
The stars took a breath
And he took my heart with him as he drove away.
Firsts
Furtively, I took my father’s double-edged
blade and crept to the bathtub,
sure, for some reason, I’d be told
I was still too young
to look like the other girls,
so sleek, so acceptable.
I touched it to my ankle
and immediately, blood
spurt out on white porcelain,
a chunk of skin and some flesh
detached and lying on the drain.
Now I’d have to get help and confess:
I tried to shave my legs.
Robin Morris
4/1/08
First of Many
by Stacey Rasfeld
Give me a reason
to stop and take a real breath
Give me a reason
to have some perspective
Remind me to take a chance,
to make a choice,
to take an action outside of my mindless, ingrained routine of days
Aaaaah– I remember now—
crisp fresh cold air drawn deep into my lungs –
relaxing
daisies — extravagantly silly
Smiles — absolutely free
Aaaaah — I remember now — this moment is mine.
The first time I got stoned there was a meteor shower, and I lied on, ‘the hill,’ in our flat Indiana town, watching what I thought were the amazing effects of this drug.
SHALL I SING TO THEE OF HATRED?
As you feed, the gentle drops of blood caress thy cheeks like crimson tears, my love, sweet morphogenetic memories of all the times we’ve slain together, a line of corpses stretching to forever.
Shall I sing to thee of hatred, while the wine-red moon lies fat and plump upon a sullen unforgiven sky, beloved? Or, doth thy inclinations, bereft of meaninglessness, paradigmatically assert their wrothful command?
Shall I woo thee with insurance until the gibbous enormity patronises the very longitude of marsupial afterbirth, dearest? Or would’st thou engrave upon delinquent carnage, flailing widdershins around solemnity’s crepuscular astrolabe?
And whence thy infinitesimals, thy gaping quiesence, fistula-burdened cog bust but, lover? Neigh! Nay! Nor never shall thy crapulent derangement under-vanquish even great Cthulu’s magnificence.
Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.
It’s Such A Cliché to Fall
First things first
it wasn’t love at first sight
but at first blush you had me wondering
if you were first among equals
and now that we’re on a first name basis
I have to shoot first and ask questions later
give you first right of refusal
because it’s first come first served
and before I carry you out feet first
I encourage you to plunge in feet first
for if at first you don’t succeed . . .
fall in love with me first, or second, or third
so long as it’s first and foremost
My First Rendezvous
You were always a surefooted nimble girl,
You’d always make my thoughts go a-swirl -
On that momentous moonlit night you did turn up
Pitter-patter your teen-aged feet too,did run up
An unsmiling Dad opened the door to a girl alone
Asking for me, as if unsure I were really at home
He led you to me, his rare smile overspilling shone
With weak legs I held your hand for a midnight roam
What emotional debris we left behind on that walk
My mind like a worried bird kept pecking at your talk
Warm air and soft moonlight, hardly people who’d gawk
Often your smile smashed into my muted smile, a rock!
Can’t recall details but that heart-tugging night
I probably didn’t sleep a wink, after a hug, a good night.
Max Babi
Waiting for My First
I’m waiting for the singularity,
That one miniscule moment in time,
When the world could be crashing down around us,
and we wouldn’t even notice.
When I’ll see the heart and soul behind a person’s eyes,
and know that they’re looking at no one but me…
…the simple things that take our breath away.
Your smile becomes the light,when everything is dark.
Love will birth to flame, and we’ll become the spark.
As we kiss the planets will align,
Supernovas burst as bodies entertwine.
Beauty interrupted by the blinding light of dying stars,
Be my Goddess Venus, and I shall be your Mars.
The light years that separate,
pale in comparison to the moments in between.
The silver streaks of light that grace a falling star,
are born from the dark side of the moon.
In creation they await,
’til revolution sets them free,
Embodying the beauty of everything I see.
Standing at the edge of an expanse I never knew,
I’m staring down the universe ……. and all I see is you.
Sunlight
The first time I napped in Paris-
next to you, how else would I sleep-
the sunlight woke me up.
Mid-afternoon Parisian sun.
So much better than the distant
Midwestern sun we left behind
teasing, sparkling on top of the snow
but never melting it.
I lay in the sunlight and smiled.
What could be better, my forehead
pressed to your neck, my chin
resting on your clavicle,
my arm stretched out
across your chest,
my leg, bent at the knee
swung over your stomach
our afternoon anatomy lesson.
Among the stores and street vendors
scattered around Montmartre,
in front of the most holy Sacré Coeur.
You have conquered me, and I you,
and we sleep, tired from the battle
surrendering as they say
only the French do so well
acknowledging the only other force
with power over us
the bright sunlight beaming
through the thin hotel curtains
awaking us to our dream.
The Magic of 1996
was the illusion
breathing my own smoke
that poetry could get
big enough
to effect change
but in the long run
the stars burned out
changed hemispheres
fell like satelites
poetry goes on
the disenfranchised
the lost
reaching preaching
screaming dreaming
doing it
in the coffee house spot light
for each other
while the spotted politicians go
cha ching
cha ching
cha chitty ching ching
James P. McAuliffe
My First Cat
My first cat was ginger
Like me.
His name was Tigger
(Unlike mine which isn’t)
And he bounced up and down
He ate and he leapt
Like a lot of cats, mostly
He slept.
He was a hunter
Supreme.
A killer of birds
(And rabbits and such)
And he slept in my bed
He ate and he leapt
Like a lot of cats, mostly
He slept.
He’d bring home his prey
To the dog
A Golden Retriever
(Who didn’t retrieve)
They made a great team.
First Memory
Rain pouring outside the car
A flat tire and daddy
Fixing it
Droplets of rain running down
His big nose
Many cars behind us stopped
In the muddy road to mommy’s
Land
Cousins come out of their cars
To help daddy
Loud laughter
Daddy can change a tire
Faster than you can think
One minute flat
Even in the rain
In a muddy road to mommy’s
Land
I was one and a half years old
On my first road trip
I remember looking out
The window and watching it all
What are words?
These symbols of the thing.
Symbols that I mold with, play with.
Impacting and noble, these letters so combined.
To strike at a man’s heart as though with the real
But no, the truth is man was struck down by the ethereal.
Losing It
It was a day.
Unlike any other day.
The day you chose me.
The day we finally chose each other.
And the first time I was SURE.
We played trivia.
You drank Bug Light
I drank Long Islands
Then we ate breakfast.
It was perfect.
It was the day I thought my life would change.
The day we spent entirely together.
It was the day that turned into night.
The night I was locked out.
The night you slept in your car for me.
The night you ignored your overprotective mother.
The night we froze, and held each other to keep warm.
It sucked.
But we were together.
The two of us.
Just you
And just me.
It was still perfect.
Of course that one day turned into weeks.
Turned into months.
Turned into tears.
Turned into anger.
Turned into loss.
Then it stopped.
Like a beating heart.
In the middle of spring.
I loved you
With everything I had.
I still don’t understand
Why you’ve disappeared.
I still don’t understand
Why you’re hurting me.
I still don’t understand
Why I still cry.
How does one day feel like a lifetime?
And how does Forever feel like a hoax?
April Fool
The April Fool
was lost in
a drool
of wheeling and
dealing and
scheming and laughing at
lyrics
and lines
he’d stolen or worse
compiled into verse
to confuse and confound
or spin right around
the foolish March Hare
who was by now
no-where
Wow! Everyone’s getting off to a good start. Maybe I should’ve started off with a fastball.
Just kidding.
Actually, I hope you will send the reminder every day.
Here’s mine:
First stop the bank
I’ll need cash
for travel expenses
and at the border
for bribery
in case they
stop and check my luggage
but with any luck
no one will care
about the
dark music that only
appears to come from
my portmanteau
hypnotic
yet strangely arousing
it got me this far
though in Madrid
I was forced to
use it I was afraid
once more than was safe
the Communist
courier
with eyes that never slept
even after sex
obscure cravings
exvb3
[Chose the second prompt
]
It all starts
with a joke,
something off-color,
vulgar,
and basic
in design and shape.
Punch line designed
to punch a point
home,
deeply embed
a message
like a knife wedged in the ribs.
Titillating laughter
is the only accolade
that spills forth
from languid,
knife sharpened
tongues
designed only to tear
the soul to shreds.
It all starts off
with a light hearted
gag,
but becomes something soulless,
monstrous,
in the way
words and pranks
froth and foam with
resentment.
my first marriage
was on a steep
hill in the third
grade: we were adjacent
to recess, asphalt
hopscotch and four-
square
i wore a crown
of weeds tethered
together with an 8-year
old’s precision
and striped culottes
that would be ridiculed
the following year
a small crowd surrounded
me and my sunny-shirted
groom in giggles; all
of us the kids and the colors
of a Peanuts comic strip
our makeshift minister
was a boy who once threw
up what looked like half
of a peach floating
in syrup which sat
under the morning
bell in sawdust
until a reluctant custodian
removed it from sight
a day later
down the aisle
i was a nervous
child bride; stepping
cautiously remembering
that once a girl with blonde
pigtails and a perfect Charlie
Brown-round head
did a somersault there
and landed in dog shit
after our dramatization
of what we thought
was committment, the kiss
landed on my lips
then we held hands
for a few minutes
we were divorced
by the time the bus
took us home; no honey-
moon on the jungle gym
or imaginary cruise–
just a tearful me
when i saw him
with a girl taller
than me the next day
Oh Clair..first love
the summer of nineteen seventy six
i lay awake; alert as a fox
mesmerised by your red lips
that tasted of Martini
the licks of silky hair.
Oh Clair
like a victim of some experiment
evaluating the ratio
of brain to hips
I had my chips
with the blush of malign intent.
It was a shallow empty love
when you said that I was ‘ full of shit’
i didn’t bother to explain
the sharp schism in my teenage trip
stress spots, cold sweats and ego pain.
Oh Clair
the fluttering, stuttering and angst
of my futile quest;
to get inside your pants.
Ah, you got me! I’m following a policy of not posting poem drafts up on websites, but for all my grumbling you can take it from me that your handy hints and prompts are paying off. Call it a two-parter about the Book of Genesis and the old Persian meaning of Paradise… Now for the third part…
"73" Newport Custom
23 feet from hood to trunk
wide enough for me to stretch out on the back seat.
my grandfather bought it to match a new house
$300 dollars I saved to make her my first car
little did I know the car would be a prize for saving
metallic brown with a badge landau roof
and no shortage of chrome.
I once raced a friend who had a MG
what I gained on the flats he recovered in the hills
it was over when I fishtailed into a driveway
the highway was it home.
MY LACK OF PUCK (I never seem to be able to make a good April Fools Joke)
Puck punk pranks
Tongue-in-cheek not
Me. My humor
Flows as quietly
As a pebble sinks.
…FL I like yours too–poem stealing your picture!
This is fun.
http://tspoetryjournal.blogspot.com/
MOVING IN
In the midst of late night thunder storms
And with inadequate light
In shifts, Mom and Dad painted clichés
Her room grew vibrant
Pink
Ribbon Pink
Second grade smiles
Tonic to moods
His room grew dreamy
Blue
Linen Blue
Kindergarten picture books
Heavenly horizons
With their stages set before the movers came
the rest could wait; we waited
What else will they tell the neighbors, their friends?
No, we don’t go to church. We haven’t been to Paris, yet, or to Punta Cana . . .
Zero gravity lacrosse? Do you have to take lessons first?
I didn’t see the "first bicycle" poem which comes before mine here. I like it too!
FIRST LIGHT
my first look
was filtered by curtains –
even then, the sky was rosy!
sunrise over Golden Ears Park –
the mountains white, but pink!
my first thought –
ah, a fine day!
but then remembering:
red sky in morning,
a sailor’s warning
and after all
it’s April first –
nature’s trick?
will it hail
again today?
one thought:
I should take a photo -
first this poem!
and then -
the fog set in . . .
Franci Louann flouann@telus.net April 1, 2008
I liked both poems, first cast, first kiss! Ok this is nature’s prank? FL
MY FIRST BICYCLE
Had a removable boy’s bar,
Doubling as a girl’s bike.
Last night, at a Valentine’s
Party, I sat in a kissing
Booth kissing boys the way
I kiss girls when I know
Them well . . . when I was
Little I never considered
Removing the bar so I could
Jump higher, but every so
Often I wonder why I never did.
AARON FAGAN
Spring Kiss
Couldn’t he have given me
A softball kiss
Just to warm it up but no
Not knowing it was my
First he went at it full
Without a thought
More March than April.