Celebrating National Poetry Month

Howdy, howdy!  It’s (already) April once again.  Can you believe it?  A quarter of the year has passed us by.  As many of you know, that means it’s National Poetry Month.  I admit that I haven’t given poetry much of my time this past year, but I want to change that.  At least for a month.  I didn’t realize how much I missed it until my Facebook friends started posting daily poems.  So, I thought I would devote this post to a few of the ways that I hope to celebrate this month.

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1. Write a poem.  I honestly can’t remember the last time I wrote one.  But I recently had a nostalgia moment where I read through some of the ones I wrote as an undergrad, and that made me really miss the structure that poetry provides.  I used to love writing villanelles and haikus and sestinas.  Anything with strict constraints.  I liked looser forms as well, but they weren’t as challenging.  That little trip down memory lane even resulted in me submitting a poem to a contest.  Send good vibes!

2. Read a book of poetry.  Maybe I’ll read an anthology filled with different authors writing about the same subject.  It’s always interesting to see how different people tackle the same basic topic.  Then again, maybe I’ll read a collection by one author.  I like to see how a collection connects from one poem to the next (or doesn’t connect at all).  Hell, maybe I’ll read both kinds.  It’s still early in the month after all.

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3. Base a story off a poem.  I’m almost done with my current novel attempt, so I’m hoping to work on more short stories and flash pieces, that way I have more things to submit.  I know I use art a lot for inspiration, but I’ve also been known to use songs and poetry in the past as well.  It might be an adaptation, or it could just be loosely connected, but hopefully it’ll be something good.

4. Take the time to listen to some poetry.  I don’t know of any upcoming readings around here, but YouTube has plenty.  And there are always podcasts.  I’m sure if I asked my Facebook friends for recommendations, I’d come away with too many options to check out in a month.  Feel free to shoot me some podcast or other ideas for places to listen to poetry here as well!

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5. Look back at some of my old favorites.  I used to have a few poems memorized, but I can’t get all the way through any of them anymore.  From Ai to Donne to Poe, there are a lot of poems I should probably revisit.

That’s my plan for celebrating National Poetry Month.  What about you?  Are you going to read or reread some of your favorite poems?  Maybe you’ll write some of your own poetry.  What about my visual art friends?  Have you thought about making your art based around a poem?  Feel free to share your plans here or on my social media pages!

National Poetry Month

Hello, hello!  Since April is National Poetry Month, I thought I would share a list of five poems that have stuck with me through the years.  They aren’t necessarily favorites, just ones that I keep coming back to for some reason.  I think we all have at least one, even if we aren’t the biggest fans of poetry in general.  It might be a nursery rhyme or song lyrics (because those totally count as poetry), but it’s there.  I actually have a lot more than five, but I don’t want to bore anyone.

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1.  The first poem is called “The Suicide” by Ai (if the link doesn’t take you directly to the page, it’s on page 40 in that one).  It was originally included in her collection, Cruelty.  I found this poem in my Intro to Poetry Writing class an undergrad.  The teacher gave us a list of poets and we had to pick three to read.  I wanted to see what a woman whose name means love wrote about, and I wasn’t disappointed.  I immediately fell in love with the way she made mundane things creepy and disturbing, but made the creepy and disturbing stuff beautiful.  I don’t know why “The Suicide” has stuck with me, but I find myself drawn to rereading it every couple of years.

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2.  Next up is “Acquainted with the Night” by Robert Frost, which appeared in West-Running Brook.  Pretty sure I was still in high school when I was introduced to this one.  I just remember feeling a kinship with the speaker of the poem.  Someone who was awkward, lonely, and probably a little depressed.  I still feel that strong connection to it whenever I read it.  Maybe I’m just weird.

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3.  I can’t do a list like this without including John Donne.  A lot of his poems have resonated with me, but the one that I undoubtedly come back to the most is “Holy Sonnet X: Death, be not proud.”  I don’t remember how old I was when I came across this one, but I do know that I loved it from the start.  The personification of Death has always interested me.  The idea that it was a physical being that I could talk to was creepy and wonderful even as a kid.  Then Donne goes and kills Death, which I fully admit I found a little sad.  Why can’t Death join us in eternity?  But yeah, this is one I’ll always hold dear.

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4.  The Wild Iris by Louise Gluck is another collection I discovered during that Intro to Poetry Writing class.  While I related to a lot of the poems in this book, “Snowdrops” is the one I come back to every so often.  I read it as someone breaking free of a long depression, feeling all of that weight disappear.  It gave me hope during a dark period in my life.  It still gives me the same feeling every time I read it.

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5.  And, of course, Poe is going to make an appearance on this list.  While I am drawn more to his short stories, I do enjoy his poetry once in a while.  For me, “A Dream Within a Dream” is the poem I come back to the most.  I can take or leave the first half, but something about the second part just keeps calling me back to it.  The fear and the lack of control is something I relate strongly to, so I suppose that’s why I keep going back to it.

What about you?  What poem keeps pulling you back to it?  Feel free to share your list here or on my social media pages.

A Nod to National Poetry Month

 Welcome, all!  I fully admit that I had no idea what to write about today, then I remembered that it’s National Poetry Month.  I could take the easy way, and post one of my favorite poems, but I won’t do that.  Instead, I’ll show you a poem that I wrote for one of my undergrad poetry courses.  There’s not much you need to know.  It was inspired by my love of Visual Kei bands, and a particular song, “Psycho Butterfly” by Kaya.  In case you’re curious, I’ll put a link to the song at the end.

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Kaya. The man (you read that right) whose song, Psycho Butterfly, inspired the poem.

Psycho Butterfly
For all pretty females of the Visual Kei style that just happen to be males.

Pretty colors mask the truth, poisonous to some.
Seduce them in then blow their minds.
            Sighs entice
            Eyes alight
            Legs ensnare
            Innocence bare
            And beaten away
You’re not what you seem.

Caught in your deceptive exterior, there’s no escape.
            Meaning disappears
            Awakening fears
            Not yet voiced
            At the sound of your voice
Helpless when you sing for their souls,

Only finding out when it’s too late.
            Hidden in your wings
            Intriguing desires
            Zap their strength
            And exhaust their mind
            Keeping them from the truth
            Inches from their thighs

Beauty that demands attention, none can ignore.
Under sun, under moon, under sheets,
            Touching gently
            Ecstatic fantasy
            Repels the time
            Until the discovery is made
They only love you until they know you.

That secret that you don’t try to hide yet
Everyone blames you for.
            Keen eyes
            Aggravate
            Your insensibility
            And push you further into your cage
Reality crashes down on their fantasies

            Masculine tendencies
            Incense their senses
            Yet drive them away
            Angry at the world
            Vying against their own desires
            It’s always that way
Fly away while they fall.

Look for a new predator that’ll play for keeps, but for now
You’ll keep teaching that love’s not skin deep.