World Poetry Day 2016

Neil Gaiman posted on Facebook that it's World Poetry Day, so it must be true.

It almost got past me this year.

It's been so long since I've written more than a line or two of flash fiction, I am glad to share with you today two new poems I wrote this morning in honor of the day.

I posted on Facebook that I consider myself an aspiring poet (though my poetry has been published multiple times.) 

Maybe this is because I consider all poets to be lifelong students of the art form, always learning, always growing. 

Perhaps the final stamp of "POET" belongs only to the dead.

Or perhaps someday the words align just right, and you know, for sure, in your heart that you've contributed something worthwhile to the noise of the world.

There have been moments when a poem I wrote felt like that, but it was too fleeting to hold. 

I may not feel exactly that today, but here they are: my humble offerings on the celebration altar.

I hope you enjoy them.

xoxo

~bru

The Recovering Writer

In the end perhaps it’s only this

that counts for anything

in this dark space

That we, who dream in words

are meant to summon

the light that soon the darkness

does replace

When I have served my time

and told my stories

When all’s forgotten but the

final sound

Of my pen on paper

as I scribble,

and with a breath

do write my last word down

Remember, if you can,

I tried my hardest;

to learn, to know, and

to be understood...

To reach the heart of

one soul with my journeys,

…I hope I’ve done

just one

small bit of good.

~February Grace

3/21/16

World Poetry Day

~*~  ~*~ ~*~

Battlements

Admit not every soul

into your courtyard

for some would only come

to steal the fruit

To pluck from saplings

fragile and untested

the sweetest flower

of their shining youth

Remember when you were

the smallest willow

the bud upon the rosebush

fresh and new

Remember when your eyes

were bright and brave

aglow and innocent

as springtime’s dew

Older may mean wiser,

still wolves will wait

to feast upon

your better self

They’d strip you clean

and leave the bones

to gnaw on, when

Hunger’s angry wrath returns again

Protect your precious, sacred heart, my lovely

from the wolves and sheep

and thieves of hope

all told

The last are worst

of all, you see,

because they are most bold

Build high your gates

and hide the keys

where only you

can find

Decide with care

which travelers

you grant passage

through your mind.

February Grace 3/21/16

World Poetry Day 2016