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National Poetry Month

Welcome to April, National Poetry Month!

The Monday Poetry Prompts are taking the month off but we strongly encourage you to accept the Poem-A-Day Challenge this April and humbly suggest you follow the Write Better Poetry blog by Robert Lee Brewer because he’ll be posting a prompt-a-day for the Challenge.

I’m sure there are other blogs and websites that will be posting daily prompts this April, so if you know of any others please post them in the comments below for all our collective inspiration.

And if you’re posting your poems-a-day to your blog, please post a link in the comments so we can follow along.

Until May…

About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.

Discussion

23 thoughts on “National Poetry Month

  1. Although I am not participating in this, but I can’t help to celebrate this community. https://wp.me/pap1rn-211

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Cassa Bassa | April 22, 2022, 6:07 PM
  2. Follow my April Poem a Day at yourplateormine967244485.Wordpress.com

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by yourplateormine967244485 | April 10, 2022, 11:00 PM
  3. My Day 1 poem: April 1

    Start a poem with the letter F

    Frost

    The morning light has yet to melt
    The frost on these leaky panes
    Beyond
    our fresh-faced optimism
    lies wilted in the bright
    A sacrifice to our need for patience
    A sign that fools have more
    Than one day a year

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by Chris Clarke | April 5, 2022, 11:40 AM
  4. It is Day 4 on NaPoWriMO already
    Cressida de Nova
    http://seachurn.blogspot.com

    PS
    I only write the short forms of poetry so it wont take long to read:)

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Cressida | April 4, 2022, 12:47 PM
  5. For the Military Child whose month is justly in Spring, when else?

    The Colonel’s Children

    The quiet ones live in literary neighborhoods
    where the military planes
    rumble overhead,
    but never on Sunday.

    The public walk has a baby pacifier on the electrical box
    that belongs to us all,
    the pacifier that belonged once to all
    and still belongs to the child
    who salutes his Father and counts his Mother’s medals.

    At present we live in the past
    seeing surburbia
    as a dreamscape that repeats,
    the repetition is our comfort, it placates.

    Only the child of war can speak
    when all has been said
    He enforces the silence
    of the mediocre mind

    If you want to find originality go small,
    Feldman said, before he died.
    He was thinking of the quanta
    who never thought of him.

    Before he died he went on a journey
    to Tuva to hear throat singing
    and after that
    anyone could die content.

    Don’t remember this,
    too fine a memory erases novelty
    we need novelty more than chocolate
    novel chocolate has already been provided,

    Salted bacon chocolate bars mix
    Mayans with pigs;
    sounds like a barbeque
    in the grass before the step pyramids.

    We wish hard to express our thought
    even when we see it amounts to very little,
    a tinny sound in the pause
    after the planes are gone.

    In the literary neighborhood
    we have learned not to covet fame,
    with its demands for orthodoxy
    in everything you may have on your mind.

    How wild it could have been
    had dearest Kierkegaard broken out
    of goodness, in print.
    If he were near

    He would strangle on oneness, niceness,
    and cooperation, the trinity.
    The collective must have cooperation
    yet life happens in depth, in the singular.

    Is that fearsome?
    Yes,
    and
    no.

    In fiction lives the character you create
    who thinks like you want to think,
    he would have to be the villain,
    and what is a good story without him?

    The planes that fly over the lost
    pacifiers in the neighborhoods of poets
    under large leafy trees,
    are Life, objectively speaking.

    Like

    Posted by ts19page | April 2, 2022, 3:52 PM
  6. My poem for National Poetry Month challenge from my blog: https://yourplateormine967244485.Wordpress.com titled Findings.
    Happy writing ✍️
    I apologize if post is duplicate, l was not sure if my first attempt was done correctly. 😊

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by yourplateormine967244485 | April 2, 2022, 1:19 PM
  7. My first poem for the challenge from my blog: yourplateormine967244485.Wordpress.com titled: Findings.
    Happy writing ✍️

    Like

    Posted by yourplateormine967244485 | April 2, 2022, 1:12 PM
  8. April first, last and always

    The Catch of the Day, In Honor of Cliche

    The writing on the wall is off the wall
    considering the whirlwind tour of editorial
    approbation,
    even with the patience of Job you will pay the
    piper when the march of history lands in your lap.
    You must leave no stone unturned and
    stay cool as a cucumber or at least a baby gherkin,
    for the crying is done over spilled milk
    and the suckling is chomping at the bit
    to catch you hook line and sinker
    and throw you in the clinker
    for the long arm of the law wears sleeveless wife-beater tees.
    And your pleas fall on on deaf ears,
    you will be in for years and years
    when you are nicked and in the nick of time
    you labor on with loves labor lost to the sands of time.

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by ts19page | April 1, 2022, 5:20 PM
  9. In a Nod to April Fool’s Day:

    To Transcend the Downtrend

    We will fore fend, she said
    will upend
    and whether we leave intact or rend
    will depend
    upon the rampart
    we must defend.

    The foolish, premeditated, lend
    credence to all things pretend
    and otherwise descend,
    to confabulations of force that tend,
    to to tyranny as an unforeseen dividend.
    As in, its me against you in the….

    You have the universe to lend,
    and we comprehend that being many,
    at world-end may portend,
    that down is not out, and we will mend.

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by ts19page | April 1, 2022, 12:02 PM
  10. https://www.napowrimo.net/ is a good one, too. I like to mix things up, so I will likely go to both the Robert Brewer challenge and this one. Also, it is Black Women’s History Month, so it might be fun to write a poem after the many celebrated black women poets.

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by Lisa Tomey | April 1, 2022, 7:38 AM
    • My Contribution to Black Women’s History Month, in honor of an old friend of mine:

      Deep-shade Woman

      The porch was inhabited;
      it was less an entry than a perch
      for branchy lurking,
      or for commandeering.

      Stepping chary up the walk,
      tangled in weeds and vines,
      I passed like November, from sun
      to shadow signs.

      Looming massive back and forth
      rocking in a chair,
      through the gloom I saw
      a deep-shade woman there.

      Step up, she said, step up.
      The chair creaked cross the splintering floor
      calling up the dust in curls
      to rise around the torn screen door.

      Without a word with just a nod
      she offered me the other seat,
      backless, low, it did not rock,
      a footstool at her feet.

      Nice to rest, I said.

      She nodded swaying heavily,
      her chair a moving wedge
      hands large, still, and dark,
      roots rumpled by water’s edge.

      I thought to find you occupied,
      with so much time upon your hands
      so much to braid and then un-braid
      the spin, the woven strands.

      Something shifted in her eyes,
      smoothly fluid out of sight
      not a meaning with a word,
      but a quality of light.

      Then flowed her voice broad
      and low, molding space to fit,
      When I work, I work, she said
      When I sit, I sit.

      * end *

      Liked by 4 people

      Posted by ts19page | April 1, 2022, 12:20 PM
    • Thanks Lisa

      Liked by 1 person

      Posted by JeanMarie | April 1, 2022, 1:37 PM
    • Thanks! That’s a great idea for Black Women’s History Month.

      Liked by 2 people

      Posted by Bartholomew Barker | April 1, 2022, 10:22 PM
    • I noticed it is also Month of the Miltary Child, which is already on my poetry things to do list. Muses are EVERYWHERE!

      Liked by 1 person

      Posted by Lisa Tomey | April 2, 2022, 1:24 PM
      • The Colonel’s Children

        The quiet ones live
        in literary neighborhoods
        where the military planes rumble overhead,
        but never on Sunday.

        The public walk has a baby pacifier
        on the electrical box that belongs to us all,
        the pacifier that belonged once to all
        and still belongs to the child
        who salutes his Father and counts his Mother’s medals.

        At present we live in the past
        seeing suburbia
        as a dreamscape that repeats,
        the repetition is our comfort, it placates.

        Only the child of war can speak
        when all has been said;
        he enforces the silence
        of the mediocre mind.

        If you want to find originality, go small,
        Feldman said, before he died.
        He was thinking of the quanta
        who never thought of him.

        Before he died he went on a journey
        to Tuva to hear throat singing
        and after that
        anyone could die content.

        Don’t remember this,
        too fine a memory erases novelty
        we need novelty more than chocolate
        novel chocolate has already been provided,

        Salted bacon chocolate bars mix
        Mayans with pigs;
        sounds like a barbecue
        in the grass before the step pyramids.

        We wish hard to express our thought
        even when we see it amounts to very little,
        a tinny sound in the pause
        after the planes are gone.

        In the literary neighborhood
        we have learned not to covet fame,
        with its demands for orthodoxy
        in everything you may have on your mind.

        How wild it could have been
        had dearest Kierkegaard broken out
        of goodness, in print.
        If he were near

        He would strangle on oneness, niceness,
        and cooperation, the trinity.
        The collective must have cooperation
        yet life happens in depth, in the singular.

        Is that fearsome?
        Yes,
        and
        no.

        In fiction lives the character you create
        who thinks like you want to think,
        he would have to be the villain,
        and what is a story without him?

        The planes that fly over the lost
        pacifiers in the neighborhoods of poets
        under large leafy trees,
        are Life, objectively speaking.

        Like

        Posted by ts19page | April 2, 2022, 4:30 PM

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