Here we are. It’s April again. The Cruelest Month. Some months (and some Aprils) are crueler than others, apparently…
In order to
punish myself push myself, I have decided this year to embark on another crazy (unofficial) NaPoWriMo/NaPoREADMo (National Poetry Writing Month/National Poetry Reading Month) scheme. Only this year I’m crazy doubling down. I shall endeavor to not only write finish and post one poem per day on this here bloggo, but also to read said poem (ahem) aloud and post the sounds here so that you may understand how lucky you are that you don’t live with me enjoy the mellifluous tones of my deep baritone tenor (mezzo-soprano, maybe) voice.
On top of that (does this make it tripling down?) I am also going to be posting and reading aloud one poem per day by various persons (them afore-mentioned “Other Persons”) who will no doubt make my work look like doggy drool.
Anyway, it’s something to do. And hopefully something that someone out there (other than my wife–oh, wait, never mind–she’s in here with me) will enjoy. So. Here we go…..
(Erm…my bit will come a bit later. It is a night poem, so I shall wait for night to read it…..)
O.P.P. #1, Edna St. Vincent Millay’s rather cheeky (and perhaps ever-so-slightly dark?) take on the current season…..
Spring To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in itself is nothing. An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.