This April Is a Ragged Poem

I know it is not April, but I hope to be doing a poem a day for Poetic Asides in April. 

This was a fun poem to write. Its form follows the month, lyrical and times and ragged at other times. 

This April Is a Ragged Poem

This April is a ragged poem
 I don't quite understand.

 Its rhythm, rhyme, and meaning
 don't seem at all well planned. 

 It started out all lyrical
 with trees and ponds and such.

But soon its form was upset and uneven, 
and Dean got soaked, and I was stuffed in a closet,
and the horse was road kill, and Bill Hayer died. 

Now I am home and keep getting tired, even though I was feeling better yesterday--
good enough to unclutter for Matt to enter a reasonable-looking house.
And yesterday when I called my fellow small group gal
(the professional organizer
who had offered me a ride) her mind had been so unorganized she forgot the meeting.
               It didn't help that I had sent her e-mail to the wrong address (using a 2
                not a Z) and she told me to remind her this week to come to the meeting 
and so this month-poem has neither energy nor organization. 

One stanza poured and poured and poured rain and whirled wind around
and created chaos all over some towns. 

Another one chanted sunshine, drip, drip, sunshine, drip, drip. 

My guess is a later stanza will be filled with mud 
and track its unwelcome, unmetered mess
onto a newly metered floor,
leaving unwanted muddy melodies where cleanliness was desired. 

I'm sure 
there is 
some kind 
of a segue 
into May

Sheryl Kay Oder

8 thoughts on “This April Is a Ragged Poem

  1. I really love this Sheryl – as we used to say when someone seemed to understand exactly how we were feeling, “you must’ve been reading my mail” – well, you must’ve been reading mine … but your detailing of the experiences and feelings is so much more eloquent than anything I’ve been able to come up with; no wonder Linda used it … very nicely done and kudos to you both…

    • Bless your heart for commenting, Diane. Maybe it is too ragged for you. The only thing to get is the month was ragged, so I made the poem ragged. It went from one type of stanza to another one. When what happened was good, the poem had good rhyme and rhythm. When everything went a bit berserk, there is little or no form. It was a tornado which forced me into a closet while Dean was out walking in the rain. A horse was run over during the month. Also, April showers are likely to add to the mud on the floor.

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