NaPoWriMo – Day 11

Each day for the month of April, the Cedar Bark Poets are writing a poem a day in celebration of NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing month. Poems are posted here daily. Let Katheren know if you would like to participate!

“And now for today’s (optional) prompt! Today, I challenge you to write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does. I think of the “surprise” ending to this James Wright Poem as a model for the effect I’m hoping you’ll achieve. An abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing out a poem that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details. Happy writing!”


Panic 4.am

Ohhh, My heart beats so,so fast
Sweaty, clammy skin
Tears prick my eyelids
Breath deep,hold them in
Danger,danger,danger
I can feel it all around
Scream echoes throughout head
But there isn’t any sound
Fight or flight,fight or flight!
Another p.t.s.d.’moment’ in the night
Alone and vulnerable in my bed
Nightmare dreams shadow truth
Forever I fear the strength of brutes
These symptoms will pass,I’ve read
Memories of your fists,I dread
Arise check windows,locks,doors
Touch the walls
Feel my bare feet on the floors
Fully awake though I shudder still
Strong I AM STRONG,says my free will
Coffee and await the rising Eastern Sun

– Kath


First Sip

Within my grasp
Warmth fills my fingertips
The steam dancing away
Aroma fills the room
As it playfully leaves the cup
The light brown liquid
Sweetens my lips
True therapy of relaxation

– Rhiannon


Forever Barnyard

As rays of light peak through
We lay in piles of straw
A lingering musty odour
Mixed with the new scent of hay
Not a care in the world
Yet relaxing just the same
The walls were crumbling away
Delicate because of age
Young ones seek memories through fallen cracks

– Jonah


A turn over edge

The tapering gaps below, distantly you can make out the stream, the water’s flow the worn slats of greyed weathered wood, the grain patterned from weather and wear the curving troughs of soft wood grain worn away next to lay, harder ridges of grain still there A greyed wood end aged away until some portion of it was no longer there how much, no one could say, but at the end of the day, one should only cross it on a dare over the boards, rounded edges, no longer square with rusty old nail heads popping out of each tread by the pair

build up long ago. this old foot bridge you should only have to cross in a nightmare the leaning old railing, hardly able to hold itself up, badly in need of re-nailing and a long stringer, cracked along the grain and on the verge of failing crossed with white knuckles and a resolve also near failing

the ark of the deck, into where the ground it met and the crumbling of the earth at the notch where it was let

the small bridge over a churning stream too small to show on the map, a near right angle turn to cross a point on the route over glossed, but finally a landmark on the trail for those lost lichen and mosses cling to the old surfaces as slightly they swing in a cross wind, through the railing it whistles and sings

as you step it creaks, groans and tenses up, around you the sound of compressing pings in your heard an alarm about why you are doing this and why it’s a mistake rings as over the edge now your body clings looking down on a passing pair of wings

My love of the world has brought me away from everything

– W.B.

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