Happy National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month and I wanted to wish everyone a happy month of poetry. I’ve scheduled poems for the blog for all month. Some of them I have really enjoyed so much and I hope that yous do too.

Healing Poems 187

I fight Rape Culture because
When I told my ex boyfriend about my rape
He ‘forgave’ me.

I fight Rape Culture because
I saw my baby sister age overnight
As she told me about her best friend getting molested.

I fight Rape Culture because
My closest friend was abused as a child
And he told nobody but me.
It took him 13 years to open up.

I fight Rape Culture because
My friends admit to letting their partners fuck them when they don’t want it
Then laugh it off as typical male behaviour.

I fight Rape Culture because
Saying that you’re raping someone is perfectly acceptable
If you’re playing a video game.

I fight Rape Culture because
Men tell me they are insulted when women walking in front of them start to walk faster.
As if their ego is more important than our safety.

I fight Rape Culture because
If I tell somebody their rape joke isn’t funny
I am told that I’m uptight.

I fight Rape Culture because
It won’t die out
Unless we kill it ourselves.

~ Unknown, found at Lomticks-of-toast.tumblr.com

Healing Poems 186

People
are not
rain
or
snow
or autumn
leaves;

they
do not
look
beautiful
when
they
fall

http://navk.tumblr.com

Healing Poems 185

Journeys bring power and love
Back into you. If you can’t go somewhere,
Move in the passageways of the self.
They are like shafts of light,
Always changing, and you change
When you explore them.

~ Rumi

Healing Poems 184

Water, stories, the body,
all the things we do, are mediums
that hide and show what’s hidden.

~  Rumi

Healing Poems 183

Morning

All year long there is
the table by the window,
blue cups with white rims,
the black teapot.

There are sometimes flowers,
when we remember.
There are paisley napkins,
and always oranges.

The window looks down
into a courtyard,
and sometimes up
into blue sky.

~ Frederick Smock

Healing Poems 182

Goods

It’s the immemorial feelings
I like the best: hunger, thirst,
their satisfaction; work-weariness,
earned rest; the falling again
from loneliness to love;
the green growth the mind takes
from the pastures in March;
The gayety in the stride
of a good team of Belgian mares
that seems to shudder from me
through all my ancestry.

~ Wendell Berry

Healing Poems 181

Rain

Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgiveable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

~ Raymond Carver

Healing Poems 180

Primavera

Spring comes quickly: overnight
the plum tree blossoms,
the warm air fills with bird calls.

In the plowed dirt, someone has drawn a picture of the sun
with rays coming out all around
but because the background is dirt, the sun is black.
There is no signature.

Alas, very soon everything will disappear:
the bird calls, the delicate blossoms. In the end,
even the earth itself will follow the artist’s name into oblivion.

Nevertheless, the artist intends
a mood of celebration.

How beautiful the blossoms are—emblems of the resilience of life.
The birds approach eagerly.

~ Louise Glück

Healing Poems 179

Spring

Something new in the air today, perhaps the struggle of the bud
to become a leaf. Nearly two weeks late it invaded the air but
then what is two weeks to life herself? On a cool night there is
a break from the struggle of becoming. I suppose that’s why we
sleep. In a childhood story they spoke of the land of enchant-
ment.” We crawl to it, we short-lived mammals, not realizing that
we are already there. To the gods the moon is the entire moon
but to us it changes second by second because we are always fish
in the belly of the whale of earth. We are encased and can’t stray
from the house of our bodies. I could say that we are released,
but I don’t know, in our private night when our souls explode
into a billion fragments then calmly regather in a black pool in
the forest, far from the cage of flesh, the unremitting “I.” This was
a dream and in dreams we are forever alone walking the ghost
road beyond our lives. Of late I see waking as another chance at
spring.

~ Jim Harrison