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!
In his poem “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life. Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!
Let it Snow!!
Sweltering in the summer heat
Completely melted ‘were I ice
I used to think hot was ‘nice’
No longer do I think it neat!!
Three whirling fans and I want more
I even wet down my sleeping sheets
If I could, I’d shut Natures door
And never June, July, August meet
Fall, Winter and darling Spring
To these 3 seasons, praise I sing
But truly I do lament
The Dog Days that leave me spent!!
Doesn’t it make you want to puke?
When you are outside you are a popsicle
Yet inside, the heat is so hot, you melt.
Vancouver rain is the worst
You get chilled to the bone
And if it snows, it rarely stays.
People cannot drive during winter months Like a switch changes in their brain Bloody Drivers!
December is so dark and gloomy
You wake up in the dark
Even when it is daylight, a gloom lurks
Then dark again! AHHH — the madness
December brings “festivities”
Some like this Christmas stuff
All it does is burn a hole in your wallet Rip your hair from stress and pressure Awkward family get togethers Such a horrible holiday No cheer from me — 100% the Grinch
Then to top it all off
December was when my Mom was taken away
Just not the month for me
Oh December how wonderful you sound
If only you knew how much misery was found The gloom that lurks each and every day Makes me want to curl up like a snake and hide away If it is not Christmas, it is that my birthday is coming soon Trying to celebrate my birthday In the middle of everybody’s holiday festivities is a recipe for disaster My worst time of the year receiving a joint birth and holiday presents My birthday party inevitably, turns into a holiday party without my permission That is if the snowy weather doesn’t ruin your plans Your birthday presents go under the tree because they look pretty there People forget your birthday date if they remember your birthday at all It is all cramped up with carolling, festivities and family obligations On top of it all, the darkest, gloomiest time of the year Is mixed in there with all the holiday “cheer”
Twelve Flips, somewhere in Cruelty sits?
I flip through my calendar through the year
each month has uncertainties and quirks as they near
I’m not sure one is any crueler then the others
more my concern is that all the events, one another on the little squares seem to smother
over all, as I see it this is how the months fall
January brings the excitement of a new calendar to hang
but also the realization that another years calendar into the recycling bin has already gone clang
As February is to turned,
the question of ‘What on earth happened to January already!’ is a answer that year after year I have never learned
March marches in
by this point to call it a new year is wearing a bit thin
do not show up on my calendar, nor do May flowers
though I know though the days of May I’ll be weeding for hours and hours
June through July
half way points of the year, in which in full sun I’ll noticeably fry
August alas I can think of little at all and even less about to be aghast
at least apart from the heinous things I have forgot to mention out of necessity at last
of the year just basically an unnoticed structural member
there is also little to look over
apart from Halloween and the pumpkin-less fields of clover
In November I pause, the Eleventh, of so many honourable ends to fight cruelty to remember
the month itself not so much cruel as to even burn down to an ember
December, the 23rd I carve radishes, in likenesses warped and cruel, due to a lack of skill
as a relief from a week around packed shopping malls I’d had to about mill
I shall contend a fact I am confident I can defend
That is every month has cruelest things
or surprises that out and out springs
But it’s the thing fix four, or sometimes five, up lined
that will cruelly get you in a bind
For Mondays may well be the cruelest things on a calendar you will find
And I have fixed that foremost in my mind
so all months have cruelness in them, up four or five lined lined
for Mondays hide quietly on the calendars will just jump out at you striking blind
I just wish they came, warning signed