Well: April is National Poetry Month.

I’m surprised Poetry doesn’t have a bigger affect on our lives. Especially considering the technologically driven way we live. You’d think Poetry would be bigger than it is.

I mean it’s quick, it’s fun and when done well it’s packed with artistic goodness. Like a literary vitamin for those that don’t have the time or the attention span of a novel. Or even a short story.

Poetry can be fun. A strange truth, yeah?

Somewhere along our journey clumsy burnt out English teachers made poetry dry and academic. TV sitcoms ridiculed the spaced out hippie beatnik. There just didn’t seem any space or room in our lives for serious legitimate Poetry.

The best Poetry accurately captures a moment. Frozen in time you can get the luxury of self reflection which granted not many people want. Especially if it’s a regret or a mistake.

No matter what the moment maybe…it happened. We’ve all said words we wish we could take back. We’ve all had moments of pure and utter bliss (some even with our clothes on). The trick is to aim on getting it right more often than not.

I’m glad we have a month to celebrate poetry but really it should become a lifestyle. I wish I brewed some seriously serious tea more often; to sit down with a dog eared copy of a poetry book.

So: won’t you celebrate with me National Poetry Month?

Here’s a poem I wrote…
Not By A Long Chalk

I think I will always
—at least for now—
write in chalk.

I can no longer believe in the permanence of things.
Heavily I realize how often things
fade, rust, disappear, are lost, are forgotten
…die…
And while Chalk may not leave
an adequate mark
the relentless rain and thoughtless hand can
oh so easily erase my thoughtful conclusions:
short summaries of the hurt I’ve endured;
Chalk easily assigns value to my rendered words
for they are not permanent.
The McRib of emotions: {here for a limited time only}.
Words furnished in Chalk are
but vapours on this Earth
a temporary DNA like a ghost free of memories.
And while it may be a shame to lose
what I currently and in public call wisdom
perhaps: it is better this way.
So much goes unsaid and yet often what is said
is hurtful.
Progress is writing in Chalk
an antidote to the vanity of doing the crossword in pen;
unburdened by history my simple Chalk conclusions
freely appear like uncertain apparitions who
fade, rust, disappear, are lost, are forgotten
…die…
just like me; I will shortly follow
having made less than a mark as chalk.

-28-