A Poem for April

I read Ask A Manager, a blog which provides all sorts of useful insight, horror stories and good advice regarding the workplace. It is eye-opening. Go have a squiz. It's a good education, especially if you aren't sure you have a good handle on workplace norms. (hint: most places aren't.)

A recent post talked about a poor management call, entitled: "we have to write deeply personal poems and share them at a staff meeting".  This elicited quite a reaction from the commentariat, many of them erupting into poetry. Because "April Is National Poetry Month", I chose to write a poem to share. It makes more sense if you read the blog post about the deeply personal poems.


Screw Your Stupid Poem
by Office Gumby

"Where I'm from?" I come from home.
A poem about home. Of course I'm going to cry.
Everyone cries about home, either by the going from or the coming to.
And not for the same reasons.

"The worst thing I have been told"?
That I must write a poem about it.
I've already lived through the worst things.
I don't see why I should live through them again.

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P.S.: Dear Hellmouth,
I greatly love your updates and will miss them sorely once you escape.

Ode to an Unwanted Paperback

April is.... National Poetry Month.

I've received a poem a day in my email. Some I like, some aren't to my taste.

Today I got a hardcopy proof of my next novel. As I lifted it from its package, the emotional response inspired this poem. Also, it's cold, wet and rainy today.

Ode to an Unwanted Paperback

As everyone else hurried by, I stopped.
I saw you lying on the sidewalk, soaking in the rain,
Your soggy pages melting into unreadable mush.
Your title didn't interest me, yet I did not pass by.
(Work doesn't interest me either, so I hesitated.)
Did someone drop you? Is that why you're there?
Did someone toss you out, an unwanted paperback?
Or are they mourning your loss, wondering
How you fell out of the bag?
No one will pick you up now.
Yet I know, at one time, in one place,
Someone loved you very much,
Even if it was only your mother.

A to Z Challenge: What I Want & Y

Because it is April, I thought I'd try a poem.

What I Want & Y

I want to hide away; I've got so much to do.
Not to hide from the do, but from the world.
I need to work this project. I need to work on that.
I want to feel accomplished.Y don't i feel like it?

Your song is way too noisy. You are all staticky.
Must you interfere with my simplicity?
I want to run away and take my blankets too.
And my books and my works and see what I can do.

Let me be. Please go away. I accomplish nothing here.
I beat in six-eight rhythm and you're all five-thirteenths.
Y?
Stop that incessant pounding! Stop your needless demands.
Can't you see I'm busy? Can't you see my plans?

I want to slide away. So much for me to do.
Clock, stop your ticking. I'm not listening to you.
Nor to my hunger or to sleep or to the world's demands.
Please, just let me finish this one thing.
And all the rest, it too.


_______________________________
Her Grace's fancy way of saying, "Bugger off."

A to Z Challenge: April-is National Poetry Month

I enjoy poetry.

I love that April-is (Inter)National Poetry Month.

To celebrate, I am subscribed to the April-Is... mailing list. This list mails out a poem for every single day of April. There's an April-Is Tumblr with every poem they've done for the past ten-plus years. I think I've been a member of that list ever since it got started.

Of course I wrote poetry as an angty teen. Here's a stanza from something I've written:

"Gather your blossoms and kiss them goodbye.
They fall away in splendour blown.
Say gone, gone, we are dead.
Wake me nevermore."

And another one:

"Take care, for they may get loose,
The unleashing of a thousand dreams
To teach those wise and baffle the ignorant into insanity.
The blind leading the blind. They are lost in their own reality.
So take care, for they believe not in what is not,
Oh, but lives! in our hopes and thoughts."

Yep. I was one of those teens. I confess, I'm much better at being a novelist.

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Her Grace is participating in the Blogging from A to Z challenge. She'll post at least one post a day (excluding Sundays, her days of rest) featuring the themed letter of the day. Today's letter is A.

Beauty in Poetry

I've got such a romantic heart. I'm a sucker for poetry, even when it's not April.

Lord Byron, the original emo.

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

Tell me this isn’t one of the world’s most beautiful poems. Go read the rest of it, and imagine yourself on a Regency balcony under a starry sky with the scent of roses wafting on the gentle summer breeze. Ah, Byron, you darkly romantic soul, you.

I also love Fire and Ice by Robert Frost:

"Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."

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Her Grace would like to hear some of your favourite poetry.

Ghoti (and a poem)

So remember last week how hard grammar and spelling can be?

I present to you further evidence by way of this poem.  Go ahead. Read it out loud. I dare you.

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Her Grace is terse this evening as she remembers a good friend, now gone.  Who will she sing bad karaoke with now?

My Novel: My first publication

When I was seventeen I submitted a Fantasy poem to a literary magazine.  To my rapturous joy, they accepted it.  Thus, was I published.

I might have a copy of it somewhere on the other side of the planet.

Essentially, the poem was about the magical Otherworld that comes out once the sun sets. (Okay, it also had a touch of self-insertion as the narrative "I" goes for a romp.)

I do remember the final line: "I fall back to my earth. It is morning."

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Her Grace's first publication still has a special place in her heart. Since then, every publication has had a touch of that same magic.

April Is...

...National Poetry Month.

An allegory of poetry.  Oh, the angst!

You can't help but love poetry, for its beauty, its use of words, the way it touches your soul (for good or bad).

I wrote poetry when I was young.  My first sale was a poem.

In honour of (Inter)National Poetry Month, go read a poem. I recommend April Is... Tumblr page. You can subscribe to their mailing list to receive one poem a day for every day in April.  I've been subscribed for years.  (LOVE IT!!)

Because it is April, I will attempt to write a poem before the end of the month. I'll post it when I'm done.

Meanwhile, here is a poem I wrote in 1990:

Celestial Cat

I took
a look
at men on earth
I knew
they too
must have some worth.


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Her Grace loves the beauty of language. But her best poetry only comes when her heart is aching, yearning, or broken. Consider this stanza of following Teenage Angst Poetry, written when she was sixteen:

Gather your blossoms and kiss them goodbye.
They fall away in splendor blown.
Say gone, gone, we are dead.
Wake me nevermore.