Ahhh this really snuck up on me.
I have some plans for National Poetry Month... among them include participating in the Valley International Poetry Festival at the end of the month, in addition to going on a DIY writer's retreat.
I really want, also, to devote more and more time to my writing. You see, I'm not making fast enough progress on my manuscript. I'm writing, slow and steady, but it's just too slow for my taste. I've been averaging this year a decent poem maybe every two weeks. At this rate, I won't be done with my next manuscript in awhile.
So, in the spirit of National Poetry Month, I'd like to paricipate, also in NaPoWriMo. I know, I'm getting off to a late start. I meant to start on the 1st, but I've been completely swamped with grading. And... making headway on my novel, which is another project that I'm making too slow progress on.
I'm going to try to pick up the pace and write 30 poems this month. No, they won't be great, they won't even be good. But hopefully by the end of April I'll be left with some seeds of poems that I can plant, revise, edit and workshop into something glorious!
I'll be posting them here. Hopefully everyday. Here are my first two (though, they're really related).
A herd of longhorns graze on sorry grass;
the summer’s burned the monte blonde and dry.
I watch from my backyard; I peer my face
above the aging picket fence. A fist
of endive in my hands, I toss a rib
across, my bovine offering. The leaves
thump down against the Texas dust, bring forth
the largest bull. The earth
bows at his weight, he tips his horns to me
in thanks. His tongue unfurls around the leaves,
between his lips the endive disappears
with a crunch. He sniffs the earth and searches
for another taste, perhaps a loose
board in the fence. What else could I expect?
Cilantro plants as high as hips,
Tomatoes like a fist,
my garden bloomed in glory.
Then the hungry came.
The fence bowed at his weight,
and I could only watch and yelp
and wave my shovel while the bull
trampled on through, pulled up
my rows of endive, munched down
cilantro plants to nothing but stubs,
tomatoes bursting sanguine underneath
those dusty hooves. Even nopalitos,
spines and all, were sucked
between his eager lips. I tried
to slap his bovine face, his warm
breath kissed my wrist.
What else was I to do but watch wet eyed
As the beast galloped off into the monte
Disappeared into the wildflower fields
of early spring? What else was I to do
but shovel up manure
and start again?
I'll come back and revise later, but it's nice to have a start! Here's to writing more!
Happy National Poetry Month, and let the NaPoWriMo begin!
Hey, I was late starting NaNoWriMo too, and I still made it to the finish line. Don't judge me, you punk.