poetry & haiku for national poetry month

blurred photo of blue bluster flowers

Greetings, dear readers! I missed National Poetry Month but I still wanted to share some of the poetry and haiku that moved through me during the month of April. It was a revelatory month for me (I mean, there’s 2 poems here about mango green tea!), and I hope it was for you as well.


all trauma is the
misbelief that you are no
longer innocent

give love indiscriminately
to the extent it can be received

i fell in love with
the brunette & her loud little dog
this morning

the way your hair sways
& your shirt lifts when you reach –

even the way your muscles
move under your skin –

reminds me of her
& proves we never lose anything

spent condom sits in metal
can that once held candle

“first date” – its scent
tobacco & cinnamon

i say when i die
you’ll know i’m near

when you smell cinnamon
but you’re not here to hear

i’m riding the bus downtown &
noticing things i’ve forgotten to

like how arby’s now sells boneless wings
& faux frost still clings to miracle’s windows

it’s like when you stop ruminating
you don’t even notice when thoughts go

because your brain gets filled
with the thoughts you want to have

not thoughts of alternate bus routes
or how we’ll never share curly fries again

overthinking blocks the Thought:
salvation & forgiveness are the same

if to give & to receive
are the same in truth

then i’m glad i can finally give
all that i received from you

it’s just unfortunate
i couldn’t until you left

are you beautiful
or are you just another

slender brunette in a
shirt the color of sky

not today’s sky –
haze still hangs high

is it just your skin
like predawn snowfall

or that each finger
nail is a different color

purple, pink, green, yellow, blue
again, not unlike your shirt

i fall in love until you pull
the yellow cord & get off the bus

you always love yourself
it’s just that
ego gets in the way

your hair stuck to stubble –
remembering how
intimate hugs can be

i don’t want to write
a poem about you

i want to write about
the sycamore instead

& the God inside
& the God in everything

in me & you

but i don’t want to write
a poem about you

because that’s common
& quotidian

& could be filled with
empty platitudes

but my words are magic
these are the Thoughts i share

with Infinite Intelligence –
with God

so i’ll let those Thoughts
come thru my pen

& maybe it’s the full moon
& maybe it’s the needles

in my feet & legs
& stomach

or maybe it’s the sycamore
holding me up

but i feel sturdy
rooted fast to the earth

& it might be the God in me
Who wants to be sturdy for you

but i don’t want to write
a poem about you

how will i fit in
your life when you barely fit
in these syllables

youth –
that’s all this is


is this only in humans
this uncertainty

babes born to mother earth
are not so unsure

even baby humans
take their first steps
with unbridled belief

so why can’t you?
why can’t i?

maybe i misread
maybe i mislead

maybe i was unsure
but no more

to expect love
to be returned equally
is immature

equal implies unequal
& love is limitless

to whit
it comes back
because it never left

unreturned love
is not love lost

it’s just a package
not yet arrived

you will open

the heavy door
disguised as a body
& let love in

you cannot hold more
space than someone is willing
to hold for themselves

from hanover & emerald
clouds lay their shadow
over the southside

Margeaux asks
where do you hold hope in your body?

it hides behind worry
& something in my stomach
gurgles in agreement

even now the black hole in my heart
pushes hope down
away from the Light

until i remember
i don’t have to breathe into the black hole

i can breathe around it
or behind it
or under it

or if i’m really present
i remember the only i
holding onto that black hole
is the little i –

the tiny mad idea
i created when i forgot what hope was

& a dog barks somewhere –
“& heaven & nature sing”

& a serenade of sirens
reminds me i’m trying too hard
doing too much

& that black hole
has become a black mass
that just sits
where my sternum ends

(or maybe it’s just
the carrots & hum
mus i knew i shoul
dn’t have eaten &
now i’m thinking a
bout shame with f
ood & know that’s
off-prompt & it’s an
ineffective thought
& just how long is
8 minutes anyway?)

remember you can always breathe

maybe there’s a metaphor here
maybe someone wrote it better –

Naomi Shihab Nye, maybe
& the dead Indian
on the side of the road

maybe hope was
“the simple breath that kept him alive”

mango green tea
iced at two sisters –
would that this sip last forever

mint leaf smiles
as i sip & i

remember Unity
& almost weep

to say God is in
this mango green tea

is ridiculous
unless you understand

sitting with my father’s
headstone knowing he is
one with God again

othering again
at national cemetery
of the alleghenies

wondering what they’re saying
to their dearly departed

do they see Unity & Oneness
like i know you are part of now

or do they still hold grievances
like i’m learning to let go

would that april’s last sun
shine on the Self inside

that they would understand
holding grievances
blocks the Light in them

strange –
the ego cannot know itself
because it is an illusion

no body can limit
what God created limitless

Have a wonderful Wednesday, dear readers. Get out and let the sun shine on your lil faces!

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: