Poetry Month

In addition to the April showers that bring May flowers, it’s also National Poetry Month! If you go to the Academy of American Poets website, you can sign up to get a poem a day delivered to your inbox. How cool is that? This honoring of the month of April for poems is an opportunity for anyone who is at all impacted by the written word to celebrate the value of poetry in our lives. In my humble opinion, that includes all of us.

When teaching poetry, I frequently asked my students to bring in the lyrics of their favorite songs, and then we could identify the poetic elements in those songs. Kaboom, mind-blowing, we all love poetry after all!

According to Britannica, poetry is “literature that evokes a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience or a specific emotional response through language chosen and arranged for its meaning, sound, and rhythm.”

As a young mother, I felt in awe of the responsibility I had to raise the two children I was blessed with. The following are three poems I wrote when my children were very young. Poetry just seemed the only way I could hope to capture my “concentrated imaginative awareness of experience.” I hope you enjoy them.

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The Conqueror

O Master of the Universe
Look upon your humble servant with mercy
I know a kind face resides behind
A ferocious (homemade) paper mask
The visible parts of your face
Made ever more terrifying by the
Chocolate ice cream streaks of war paint
Your trustworthy razor sharp (puffy plastic) sword
Ever ready to invoke justice
Armor of tiny jeans and fuzzy flannel shirt and
Mickey Mouse slippers
I beg of you,
Protect and defend me
From the terrors and monsters visible
Only to your vigilant eyes
Fearless warrior
Invincible prince
Conqueror of my heart

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Hands

My grandmother’s hands were undecorated, sturdy hands.
Simple wedding band, short nails, lots of veins that stuck out,
And they always smelled of soap.

My mother’s hands too are undecorated, sturdy hands.
Simple wedding band, short nails, lots of veins that stick out,
And they always feel a bit scratchy.

While helping my daughter get her tights on the other day she said, “I know what your hands feel like!”
“Oh?” I replied, “And what’s that?”
“They feel like Amma’s hands!”

I looked down at my hands.
Sure enough, sturdy, undecorated hands.
Simple wedding band, short nails, lots of veins sticking out.

The small hands that reached up and wiped the tears
From my cheeks, smelled of soap,
But were not the slightest bit scratchy, yet.

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Motherhood

When one more disappointment hits me
that I think I can no longer bear,
I look into your eyes.
Yet another unkind word, look, or apathetic dismissal, I look into your eyes.
When this life seems filled with monumental tasks, of which, I, a mere mortal, will never be able to accomplish, I look into your eyes.
And I am
set free!
Reminded
that of all the people in this world,
I was chosen to be your guide through life.
Me, imagine that.
The one who is never quite sure of herself,
never quite ready,
never feels completely put together.
Well, here we are and you are the one
to remind me to set my priorities straight.
Take my hand and let us embark upon
this journey called life.
But every once in awhile,
let’s stop,
and rest,
and let me look into your eyes.