NAPOWRIMO April 23, 2019

Image by Alexandr Ivanov from Pixabay

Poem Written at the Intersection of Baseball, Eyeball and Age

Who knew I would wake up one morning

to someone playing “Asteroids” in my eye,

missing every tumbling rock

and stringy dark alien ship

letting them come around again.

Who knew that wasn’t a swarm of gnats

flying around in my peripheral vision

and the more I swatted the more they flew

while a dark arch of nothingness

hovered over my head.

No wonder people believed in fairies

making mischief at the edge of vision

or swarms of bugs on arms and legs

that could not be swatted

and that no one else could see.

So, I’m glad to live in world where

Posterior Vitreous Detachment

has replaced supernatural attackers

and suspicions of insanity

for the time being, anyway.

©2019 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 18, 2019

Image by Mauro Pittarello from Pixabay

Bedtime

Like a toddler winding up

when everyone else is winding down

resisting the pull of sleep

distractions to stay awake.

The loss of consciousness

a scary, mysterious state

a sense of being left out.

unlike a toddler’s fear of the unknown

More a dread of the known

another day of marching in place

another day of anxious pacing

forgetting the plans made the night before

during the anxiety over

Bedtime.

©2019 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 17, 2019

Legacy

Perhaps the rabbit hole is necessary,

a tumbling journey into mayhem

all while alternating the way you fit in the world.

conversing with or projecting madness,

realizing it all was a game of chance,

played in a high stakes garden of lies,

leading to the final understanding:

You will leave nothing behind but a smile.

©2019 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 15, 2019

Photo by Mike from Pexels

The Conservation of Verse

The ides of April find me

short on poetry,

at least of my own making.

As a crone of waning moon

resources are conserved,

for joy more than utility.

That which brings light is welcomed,

words sparse but far more intense,

weighed against the measure of time.

©2019 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO April 7, 2019 Catching Up

Umm

Consumed a heaping plate
Of imposter syndrome last night.
Wondering if it is still a syndrome
If it's true.
Convinced of ineptness in all that I do,
A shadow still lingering in early morning light.

(C)2019 Noreen Braman

NAPOWRIMO 2019 April 2-3

April 2, 2019

Amygdala

The engine of memory

constantly churning,

looking for patterns,

with sensitivity heightened

by uncontrolled anxiety

and constant reinforcement.

©2019 Noreen Braman

April 3, 2019

Children of Dragons

Chaos and laughter exist in a whirlpool.

Each maintaining its position by centrifugal force,

controlling the waters of fear and joy,

alternately pulling down and pushing up.

Inescapable waters to tread,

a baptism of pain and pleasure,

shielding those born in the shadows of dragons,

in whose mouths is both love and fire

and whose teeth both smile and bite.

©2019 Noreen Braman

Poetry, Humor, Aging: The Cruelest Month Returns

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

                                        TS Eliot, The Waste Land

Every April, I herald the arrival National Poetry Month in what TS Eliot called “the cruellest month.” The first few lines of this much longer monumental work speak strongly to me, not only for the herculean task of Spring wresting life out of the cold hands of Winter, but how it truly defines my own series of personal springs – stirring my own “dull roots” back to productive life.

April is also National Humor Month, the light side to my sometimes poetic dark side – again, speaking to me at the root of who I am. And it is no coincidence that I have chosen this month, this year, for even more literal head-to-to reinvention, starting with those dull roots pushing through my scalp. Whether I’ve been walking around with a headful of dried tubers is probably overworking the metaphor. Or the analogy. Could even be a bunch of similes trying to sprout on my head.

So, I officially welcome you to the 2019 Edition of The Cruelest Month, my attempt to keep up with the poem-a-day concept of NAPOWRIMO. as well as share some humor  — not necessarily combined. I’m sure something will touch on the fact that, as an April baby, I get to hear the Beatles singing “When I’m 64” ad nauseum in my head all month long.

The Work of Spring

April

Resurrects the anxiety of of unfinished business

laid to rest back in December,

Persephone demanding sunlight and fruit. 

April

Renews purpose of earth and spirit

with temptations of growth and pleasure

to soften the bittersweetness of harvest. 

 ©2019 Noreen Braman