April Raines' Storybook Corner

“Greetings, fair mortals, on this most illustrious of evenings,” Dionysus began. “You have gathered here to see a spectacle rarely beheld by mortal eyes.” He strode about the stage, jerking his head to look out toward the audience every few steps. “Few of you are worthy of such great a gift on your own, it seems, so before we begin, there must be a blessing.”

A month of poetry is done
A break, then, for now
For comics, and games, and edits
Then, onward, to write some more

Although it won't be poetry
My word count will increase
A Camp to get some damn thing done
My goal for this year:

An ending

There are times when it's better not to have an arch-nemesis
There are times when being a dull boring ordinary sort
Is exactly what you want to do, because being odd
Being the one-of-a-kind supermind that everyone knows
Means you never get a day off, unless, of course, you're dead

There are times when the only way to defeat your foe
Is to play along with his little game, no matter what
And be grateful you can see five steps ahead to plan
And humble enough to see a friend that no one else sees
Because, really, being dead is all in the execution

low power
when the lights go down
like souls at sunset
backlight and blinding
their true form obscured in the red-gold haze

the year ends
check listed to-do's left undone
linger
like dust bunnies in the corners
made up of sloughed off dreams

reflections come
like unshed tears
they sparkle at the corners of my eyes

alone, in the dark
where no one will ever know
or see

not expecting much
a few friends to spend some time
some games, some laughter
then some overindulgence
a new memory made
puts the icing on the cake
faded before it happens

Each morn on my return
I encounter him

A small brown spiral
atop a snail
sits in my path

Having escaped the grassy jungle
climbed the white cliffs
of concrete
and come down
to the wet black expanse

There, atop the puddled asphalt
journey barely begun
he waits

I lift him
out of the wheel's way
tossed onto the lawn

the journey begun again
as long as the rain lasts

My legs ache
when I lay down for nap time
I wish to follow the golden rule:
sleep when the baby sleeps

reset the alarm

when the baby sleeps
and it's only six o'clock
how will the night go?

My pal Dalley
is everyone's favourite pally
He gets down on the floor with the children
and helps open their eyes to things of cosmic ken

If I could write like Odgen Nash
then with great timpany my syllables would crash
If my poetry walked with Robert Frost
It would amble through woods all the long day
If it were with Miss Dickinson
The meter would get tossed
If my writing pulled cats from my hat so Seuss
Then a guardian Lorax could speak as my meuse

There's more to go, when I have time
Those masters of the verse and rhyme
I can hold my iambs with the best
But I make a mess with all the rest

Just let us say, before it's time to go
That knowing these masters helps my work flow