April PAD 11: Seasons

CONSEQUENTIAL

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
-King Solomon, Ecclesiastes 3:1

The most difficult lesson to learn
involves the truth of opposites:

knowing that valley living
deposits respect for mountains,

famines alternate with feasts,
luxury depends on destitution,

and institution breeds the free.
Sunshine alludes to the rain

while a caress defines pain,
knowing that trust requires faith

and faith depends on evidence.
The preeminence of truth comes

through the prevalence of lies
and a haughty disguise, in time

will be tempered by the humble.
To spring up, one must fall down.

Slippery snow will line once-hot ground.
The once-lost, in time, will be found.



Prompt: Pick a season and make it the title of your poem


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Obviously, I strayed from the prompt a bit and just focused on the concept of seasons. I am experimenting a bit with epithets and this Bible verse has been keeping me going this week. There’s a time to plant, and a time to reap. Let’s consider these poems the seeds and think of April as sowing time. Stick around for the harvest!
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April PAD 10: Mama’s Garden

MAMA’S GARDEN

That supple ground would stain
your fingers, yet you couldn’t resist

you bend to linger with the earth’s
perfume from the foot of a yam hill

distracted then by a row of new shoots,
new recruits craning towards the sun

you enter deeper, knowing no one
find you here before the day is done

you venture to the path snaking around
tiny plots till you arrive at the family plot

laid before the grandiose apple tree
your roots mingled with its deep anchor

intimidate your futile stance, yet you glance
at the pen and paper in hand and demand

what you came for – the refuge and solitude
from a world in which your words bear no fruit.



Prompt: Write a forest poem/write a tree poem


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Rushing off to a meeting! Glad to write about a childhood experience of being teased for writing all the time. I would hide behind the tombs under the apple tree in my grandmother’s garden to write in my journal because my cousins and siblings were relentless, and sometimes a bit spooked.

April PAD 9: Shady

MARKET STROLL

An unbroken dawn shields
her as she labors to market
with a bucket balanced
on her head—a bizarre
balance as her hips sway
to the rhythm of her sandals
against the gnarled road.

Watched by a hooded figure
in underground style armor
with his flighty glances
and nervous movements,
she hikes up the waist
of her skirt exposing the lace
hem of her slip, unaware
of the stare she now begs.

From birth she has been unfettered
by the looks she gathers,
but she hurries toward the square
with only one fear—that her stall
may be taken. Cigarette ashes
hit the mud as the figure
eeks past, at last in step
with her journey.

He stops short before
his approach grew louder
than her humming, realizing
that he is more afraid of her thoughts
than she is even aware of him.



Prompt: Write a shady poem.


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All caught up! I am getting tired of my school work taking precedence over the fun writing. I still have another paper to write tonight but I am enjoying this reprieve from research.