Monday, March 21, 2016

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.



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
World Poetry Day

~*~  ~*~ ~*~


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