It's Poetry Month, Ya'll!

It is the very last day of National Poetry Month, so in honor of that I am posting poems. Plus, I have a busy day and don't have time to write. Enjoy!

Letting Go

by Marsha Herndon

Seems like I’m caught in perpetual motion

Running, hurrying, scurrying

world rushes by

in fast forward as I

Move languidly as if trapped on the ocean

resisting, floating, waiting,

bumping the shore

in a quest for more.

Still, quiet preponderance says

listening, thinking, surrendering to what life has abundant

leave it alone

and you’ll be home.

And, in contrast, a poem by someone who's really, ya' know, a poet.

Stripping and Putting On

by May Swenson

I never wanted a patch of this earth to stand in,

that would stick to me.

I wanted to move by whatever throb my muscles

sent to me.

I never cared for cars, that crawled on land or

air or sea.

If I rode, I'd rather another animal: horse, camel,

or shrewd donkey.

Never needed a nest, unless for the night, or when

winter overtook me.

Never wanted an extra skin between mine and the sun,

for vanity or modesty.

Would rather not have parents, had no yen for a child,

and never felt brotherly.

But I'd borrow or lend love of friend. Let friend be

not stronger or weaker than me.

Never hankered for Heaven, or shield from a Hell,

or played with the puppets Devil and Deity.

I never felt proud as one of the crowd under

the flag of a country.

Or felt that my genes were worth more or less than beans,

by accident of ancestry.

Never wished to buy or sell. I would just as well

not touch money.

Never wanted to own a thing that wasn't I born with.

Or to act by a fact not discovered by me.

I always felt like a bird blown through the world.

But I would like to lay

the egg of a world in a nest of calm beyond

this world's storm and decay.

I would like to own such wings as light speeds on,

far from this globule of night and day.

I would like to be able to put on, like clothes,

the bodies of all those

creatures and things hatched under the wings

of that world.

Really. powerful. stuff.

But here's one for fun.

iPoem

by George Bilgere

Someone's taken a bite

from my laptop's glowing apple,

the damaged fruit of our disobedience,

of which we must constantly be reminded.

There's the fatal crescent,

the dark smile

of Eve, who never dreamed of a laptop,

who, in fact, didn't even have clothes,

or anything else for that matter,

which was probably the nicest thing

about the Garden, I'm thinking,

as I sit here in the café

with my expensive computer,

afraid to get up even for a minute

in order to go to the bathroom

because someone might steal it

in this fallen world she invented

with a single bite

of an apple nobody, and I mean

nobody,

was going to tell her not to eat.