A poem a day. For an entire month. That’s thirty poems. I got this. Seriously.
I might need reminding. Everyday. Anyone wanna poetry dom/me me? If I forget to do a poem, I have to do fifty squats or something. Though I should probably be doing squats anyway. (beach booty!)
Learning a new habit is not hard. I do it all the time. Maintaining the habit. Ugh.
I have to admit though the writing every day thing is a tough one for me. Sometimes I don’t have it. The words are there, but they’re sleeping or staying out of the way because you know you’re supposed to be studying for a hydraulics test or eating food. (Remember that time you ate food like a grownup and didn’t just cook an entire pan of french fries and then just stood in the kitchen eating them off the pan with a righteously wrong amount of mayonnaise?) This whole make the muse your bitch, she won’t show up unless you show her you want her there…dude, I feel uncomfortable telling my dog what to do. And she knows it. There’s another making someone your bitch joke in there, but it’s early and whatever.
So poem. One a day. I’ve always thought of April as encompassing my birthday, april fools day and spring, more or less. (more my birthday, less anything else) But being a grown up (kinda) means sharing. And so if I’m going to share my birthday month with something, I think poetry is a lovely endeavour. I have no idea who came up with it, (if I open a window to search that, I’m going to end up down a wikihole of random and useful/less information…) but why not? The world needs more poetry. It’s a beautiful medium. It doesn’t have to have any particular form, content, tempo, though we all have favourites for sure.
Sometimes all I hear is chatter
An influx of stuff that doesn’t matter
My perspective becomes shallow and lost.
I feel like we’ve long since lost the plot
Thinking joy can somehow be bought
Not seeing it’s too high of a cost.
But then I’m reminded my life is my own
And damn lucky I am, with no right to bemoan
For many don’t have such a luxury
And I have the choice to view life as I like
To get right back up when I fall off that bike
Or be caught within miserable drudgery
So I take time to notice how the birds sing
That there can be beauty in every damn thing
And that bad times never last long
Winter can feel long, dark and damn cold
But spring comes again, with colours so bold
And the frogs will be singing their song
Happy April, yo. (It’s my birthday soooooon.)