April is National Poetry Month. Mommys Nintendo over at The Itsy Bitsy Monkey has issued a challenge to the blog-o-sphere to write one poem per day (or as close as possible) in honor of this most auspicious occasion. (I found this challenge by way of The Word Mechanic. The blog is written by a writer and and editor, and so I am always glad to see a new post there.)
I think I’m going to take her up on it. Maybe not every day. But I’ll try. I used to “write” poetry, but I don’t really get it. It seems too easy for it to be bad. And so rarely good. But it’s excellent mental exercise. So I will just write poems and, so that you don’t have to read them if you don’t want to (since most/all of them are bound to be not-so-good), I’ll just title all the posts NPM #.
Then you’ll be warned and you can avert your eyes before they burn out of their sockets.
For the first day, a sonnet written in the Petrarchan style. These are ridiculous, and so they are very fun (abba, abba, cde, cde, iambic pentameter, turn on the 9th line).
This guy took me about a half hour to compose. I discovered that I do better when I work backwards through the line.
I told you, mental exercise.
We girls are silly things sometimes, I think:
Complain about our weight while eating cake,
Destroy the friends we work so hard to make,
Collapse in shame when overcome with drink.
And when our chats include the kitchen sink
our hurt comes soon; we’re quick offense to take.
We start to judge as “false;” and love seems fake.
But just when women drive you to the brink,
a simple word, a laugh, a touch, a smile
appears. Encouragement is suddenly
at hand. Some girl you barely knew you knew
will sit with you, and listen for a while.
She’ll hold your hand and teach you how to be
a better you in little ways.
I know I totally cheated with “it’s true,” but it was the end and I was tired. I have to rediscover quality writing. I have to build up my poetry endurance.