The skies are peeing powerfully on my windowpanes as I ponder the presence, the importance, and the particular resonance of National Poetry Month.
That’s my metaphor for April showers.
But I want you to do better than I just did.
Twenty-four years ago, The Academy of American Poets created the concept of April as National Poetry month. Not just a day, nor a week. A month. A month of poetry.
Poetry is music to the soul, joyful and mournful and whimsical and profound. I am guessing that the Academy picked the month of April because within it we witness rebirth, rejuvenation, resurrection.
Therefore, to honor April in all its grandeur, I hope you’ll consider a poem. Not simply consider a poem already written, but consider the writing of a poem. Your poem. Certainly Mother Nature is crying out to us: a murderous worldwide pandemic, swarms of locusts in Africa, howling winds outside the door. This April, fear stalks us.
Of course, there’s a miracle within every April. Daffodils pop open in all their glory. Hosta stems stick through the dirt as if checking to see if it’s safe to come out. Rhododendrons unfurl their leaves to the sun’s warmth. This April, wonder also awaits.
We should write about this. Write in blank verse, or free verse. Write a sonnet, haiku, cinquain. Write whatever you wish. As despair dogs our days, poetry gives flight to our mental meanderings. Poetry enables us, allows us, encourages us to find words for our feelings.
Poetry can give us hope.
Let’s give it a try.