Tuesday, April 23, 2019

NAPOWRIMO April 23, 2019

Image by Alexandr Ivanov from Pixabay
Poem Written at the Intersection of Baseball, Eyeball and Age

Who knew I would wake up one morning
to someone playing “Asteroids” in my eye,
missing every tumbling rock
and stringy dark alien ship
letting them come around again.

Who knew that wasn’t a swarm of gnats
flying around in my peripheral vision
and the more I swatted the more they flew
while a dark arch of nothingness
hovered over my head.

No wonder people believed in fairies
making mischief at the edge of vision
or swarms of bugs on arms and legs
that could not be swatted
and that no one else could see.

So, I’m glad to live in world where
Posterior Vitreous Detachment
has replaced supernatural attackers
and suspicions of insanity
for the time being, anyway.

©2019 Noreen Braman

Thursday, April 18, 2019

NAPOWRIMO April 18, 2019

Image by Mauro Pittarello from Pixabay

Like a toddler winding up
when everyone else is winding down
resisting the pull of sleep
distractions to stay awake.
The loss of consciousness
a scary, mysterious state
a sense of being left out.
unlike a toddler’s fear of the unknown
More a dread of the known
another day of marching in place
another day of anxious pacing
forgetting the plans made the night before
during the anxiety over
©2019 Noreen Braman

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

NAPOWRIMO April 17, 2019


Perhaps the rabbit hole is necessary,
a tumbling journey into mayhem
all while alternating the way you fit in the world.
conversing with or projecting madness,
realizing it all was a game of chance,
played in a high stakes garden of lies,
leading to the final understanding:
You will leave nothing behind but a smile.
©2019 Noreen Braman

Monday, April 15, 2019

NAPOWRIMO April 15, 2019

photo of an hourglass in focus, with a blurred background of pens, books and alarm clocks.
Photo by Mike from Pexels
The Conservation of Verse

The ides of April find me
short on poetry,
at least of my own making.
As a crone of waning moon
resources are conserved,
for joy more than utility.
That which brings light is welcomed,
words sparse but far more intense,
weighed against the measure of time.

©2019 Noreen Braman

Sunday, April 7, 2019

NAPOWRIMO April 7, 2019 Catching Up


Consumed a heaping plate
Of imposter syndrome last night.
Wondering if it is still a syndrome
If it's true.
Convinced of ineptness in all that I do,
A shadow still lingering in early morning light.

(C)2019 Noreen Braman

Wednesday, April 3, 2019

NAPOWRIMO 2019 April 2-3

April 2, 2019


The engine of memory

constantly churning,

looking for patterns,

with sensitivity heightened

by uncontrolled anxiety

and constant reinforcement.

©2019 Noreen Braman

April 3, 2019

Children of Dragons

Chaos and laughter exist in a whirlpool.

Each maintaining its position by centrifugal force,

controlling the waters of fear and joy,

alternately pulling down and pushing up.

Inescapable waters to tread,

a baptism of pain and pleasure,

shielding those born in the shadows of dragons,

in whose mouths is both love and fire

and whose teeth both smile and bite.

©2019 Noreen Braman

Monday, April 1, 2019

Poetry, Humor, Aging: The Cruelest Month Returns

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
                                        TS Eliot, The Waste Land

Every April, I herald the arrival National Poetry Month in what TS Eliot called “the cruellest month.” The first few lines of this much longer monumental work speak strongly to me, not only for the herculean task of Spring wresting life out of the cold hands of Winter, but how it truly defines my own series of personal springs – stirring my own “dull roots” back to productive life.

April is also National Humor Month, the light side to my sometimes poetic dark side – again, speaking to me at the root of who I am. And it is no coincidence that I have chosen this month, this year, for even more literal head-to-to reinvention, starting with those dull roots pushing through my scalp. Whether I’ve been walking around with a headful of dried tubers is probably overworking the metaphor. Or the analogy. Could even be a bunch of similes trying to sprout on my head.

So, I officially welcome you to the 2019 Edition of The Cruelest Month, my attempt to keep up with the poem-a-day concept of NAPOWRIMO. as well as share some humor  not necessarily combined. I’m sure something will touch on the fact that, as an April baby, I get to hear the Beatles singing “When I’m 64” ad nauseum in my head all month long.

The Work of Spring

Resurrects the anxiety of of unfinished business
laid to rest back in December,
Persephone demanding sunlight and fruit. 
Renews purpose of earth and spirit
with temptations of growth and pleasure
to soften the bittersweetness of harvest. 
 ©2019 Noreen Braman