Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Day 1 National Poetry Month 2015

Pocketbook, Paper Towel, Dictionary

I hear a jet taking off from the airport
flying into the sugar-spilled sky.

A neighbor is using a buzz saw
on his new deck.  It's April first

and I'm sitting on the porch with sun
on my legs, my iPad on my lap,

and a dictionary full of thoughts
in my head that are refusing to

come out to play.  The zipper
on the pocketbook of my memories

is staying firmly closed.  I can feel my fingers
wanting to tap dance on the keyboard

so I let them shuffle around a bit producing
black words on the paper towel-colored

background.  Then I tear off the sheet,
crumple it up, and throw it away.

Instead, I take my phone over to the flower
box and snap a few pictures of yellow,

orange, pink. Brightness on water.
And the beauty that is America

on this ordinary morning in the middle
of the week in my 66th year knowing

some poems have no words.

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Linda's Poems