I am so thirstyAnd I am mad at the rainI am also mad at myself for a variety of reasonsI can tell youNever ask me to dress youBecause today I wore navy pantsWith a black topAnd black shoesAnd the heck of it isI had the navy pants on yesterdayWith a navy and coral topBut the pants looked blackSo I changed But todayWhen we had a break in the rainI walked outside And saw that my black pantsWere navyAnd this would have never happened If it hadn’t been rainingAnd that is one reason I am mad at the rainAnd mad at myself I am weakPowerless Evidently my body has decided I can survive on three hours of sleepOr maybe five But not eightMy gut has also declined Any rhythm My teeth would like their sayBut they are clenched togetherAnd my heart can’t do anything but poundSo with all that goingMy lungs think they should puff rapidlyTo match the chaosSo I have come homeOn this miserable dayAnd lit a candleAnd rubbed velvet earsAnd wrote a poemTo try to curb my rageWithout a liquid aidAnd I’m doing quite a bit betterEven if I can’t reconcile Who I am nowThe wind howlsAnd so do I At least the coyotes are curled up And silentIf you came here Expecting me to cheer you upAs alwaysPerhaps you should ask your jesterWhat you can do for them sometime It’s not always butterfliesI cannot force a grinI know my eyes are sadAnd my…

When your heart is brokenThere is no safe placeMusic brings the memoriesBooks always have a way of speaking What’s dwelling in your mindWell meaning friendsEncourage conversation and Try to offer explanations But often pull from their own experiences That may not be very beneficialAnd you can’t focus anywayYou can’t see a way through it So nothing helpsIt is best to sit in silence And try to wrap your head around the here and nowAnd not what ifs and maybesBest to stay strongHold it together for one more dayOr hourOr minuteOr whatever you can musterThree rabbits chasing each otherRound and roundFor hours nowWhy aren’t they tiredThe squirrels appear and shake their tails in admonishmentLike they weren’t acting like that just yesterdayThey don’t mind the rainSo why should I?Never Not onceIn my wadded up existenceHave I allowed myselfThe luxury Of a breakdownAnd five drinks laterI still hold my head upBartenders wise beyond their yearsSpeak of graceAlthough I am shamedMust sleep now Although there is much left unsaidStill hereCan’t quitIt’s not my natureWilling to face another day One more dayOne more nightProbably in a long lineBut I’m still herePushin’ Time -Miranda LambertAre we fools for rushing in?’Cause I already dread the endLonely ain’t no place to startI guess that’s just where we areOh, how I remember wellThe sunset on September 12thI disappeared to get a drinkYou still kept your eyes on meSometimes love acts out of spiteAnd good things happen…

100 days of writing every dayHas certainly proved a challengeThrough fatigue and boredomThe day getting away from meOr can’t get a moment’s peaceTotal brain block Once, too filled with alcohol I have writtenI have written of birdsBut not swansI have written of ships and shores and shoesI have written of booksOf course I have written about my dogI have journaled And made up storiesAnd repeated tales about fishin’And I have written a spot of poetry this monthBecause it is AprilAnd April is for poetsAnd foolsI have written of love in almost every postWhether it is about the aforementioned Or East Tennessee Or food or farmers or frogsSo if that is what you scrounge forYou should find it in nearly every postI cannotWill notStop writingEven if it’s painfulEven if it’s revealingEven though it’s no goodI can’t quitEven if I wanted toOnce my mind is made upI never couldExcept guitar lessonsAnd maybe that’s whyBecause I was a disappointment And I never wanted to be that againSkin crawlingColdShort breaths Teeth chatteringAnxiety I supposeSince I’m not on drugsAnd I usually like rainy daysDesiring quiet in my headBut impossible with the snifferWho has stayed on the phone all but twenty minutes todayAnd I could not hear myself thinkHe coughed thirty nine timesIn nineteen minutesA reprieve tomorrow at lastIf only I could sleep I could collect my racing thoughtsAnd methodically place them in rowsAnd package them neatly with tissue paperLeaving out the most cherished onesTo enjoy regularly…

I have spent eight hoursOn my porchTodaySo farAnd in that timeI have observedSo many carpenter beesWorking the redbudsChesterChasing the carpenter beesExcept he can’t flySo he falls off the porchTally twoRobinsRound with eggsDovesSingles and severals Crows flappingHawks glidingAnd I swear that tree has gotten greener While I sat hereMr. Jenkins tilling his garden spotYes it’s Sunday But I think he enjoys itMany vehiclesWith windows downAnd arms outI approveClouds gently sliding across the skyWest to EastSo many airplanesAnd LifestarI have had two wardrobe changesAnd now under my t-shirt quiltI wanted to spray weedsBut I’m secretly relievedThe weather has been too chillyI have only sneezed once Even though everything is yellowI have drank a lot of waterAnd wondered about putting sunscreenOn my handsAnd my foreheadI do not want a repeat Surgical procedure I did not read my book again I did not do laundryI just sat with the beesAnd thoughtA haiku would be easier ~From Winnie the Pooh, by A.A. Milne I eat my peas with honeyI’ve done it all my lifeIt makes the peas taste funnyBut it keeps them on the knife! Love from Appalachia, ~Amy…

To write a poem in five minutesIs a skill I do not possess Just like simple mathOr complicated mathOr any mathBut fortunately math skillsAre not on display Like grammatical onesAnd so I will tell youOf my evening At the roping penThe first one this yearAnd it was not too hot And it was not too coldUntil it wasAnd I had to teeteeOf the twenty ridersThere were two in blue sweatshirtsOne horse who flipped completely backwardsRiderless, thank GodA dozen lazy No countCounterfeit SteersAnd I smiled About a horse deal that could not be madeBecause the horse in questionWas bought for $300Made $3000And he was offered $1000Then $1500 in the next breathThere was hesitationBut he liked his little horseI wondered what the sorrel mare thoughtAbout being talked about Right thereHer future in their handsShe blinked Her intelligent eyeAnd didn’t move muchI wondered if her mouth hurtOr if her saddle pad felt okay And if she likes doing what she doesOr if she’d rather be a trail horseBut mares don’t talkAnd the deal wasn’t struckAnd I think everybody was relievedUntil the horse who was upside downTried his trick againAnd I remembered a black filly I once hadNamed OctaviaWho broke everything Including my foot So third go lasted six secondsAnd Waffle House was my futureDiced and coveredAnd the perfect waffleFrom a genuine Waffle House waitress Sparkling personality But less than ideal teethAnd her storyWhich you never know But you have to listenWhile you eat your waffleAnd wonder what life decisions…

Another day of Redbud WinterOr is it Locust??Will we get three of thoseSince we’re getting three hatches?Or is this just SpringAnd we need to take every dayAs it comesI think soAs I ladle more soup into my bowlMore insulation I tell myselfAnd add cheeseSo jitteryFrom too much coffeeAnd suppressed aggravationDowngraded from the rage of yesterday Looking forward to tomorrow And coffeeAnd finishing booksAnd conversations about birdsOr what have youIt is just wordsI tell myselfAs I read the story aloudFor the first timeTo the one it’s aboutEven if he insists it isn’t And I tear upAnd my throat closesIt is just wordsKeep readingDon’t you dare cryJust wordsWhy am I such a tender heart I need to stay toughNot a wimpy little girlWay too late for feelingsAdjust the armorDraw the swordAnd march forwardI hope that someday A poem reaches your heartAnd caresses your soulAnd makes you yearn For something you had long forgotLike when you stumble across a retro toyIn an antique storeOr your grandmother’s perfumeOn a scarf in a drawerIn my libraryIt doesn’t matter what winter it isIt doesn’t matterWhat time it isBut it does matterBecause I cannot keep my eyes openAnd these are just wordsSometimes It Be That Way~JewelNight with its shattered teethAttempts to speakMy pen is present butCourage left via the sinkAnd I’m sorryI snuck up on youFrom behindI’m sorry not allMy love letters did rhymeAnd I’m sorry thatJesus died for my sinsAnd I swear to…

When I have found myself Inordinately angryOver a little situation In an otherwise unblemished dayI also find that a Reese’s cupOr a cuddle with my dogOr a glass of wineOr losing myself in a bookIs a successful methodOf moving past itBut when I have caught a liar-No matter how small-And plan confrontationNothing settles me Until I have brought matchesAnd kindling And keroseneAnd dynamite And lit the fuseAnd watched you burnHopefully it comes withA volcanic explosion Because I find thoseVery satisfactory But I will appease myself with blistersDo not crossAn Irish temperWith an overly caffeinated GeminiWho has already had itWith dinging phonesAnd snot sniffersAnd pure lazinessAnd renters who don’t know their addressOr how to parkOr to wear pantsWhen it’s fifty degreesAnd the wind’s whippingAnd there’s snow on the mountainDo not mistake my friendliness For kindnessOr familiarity For friendship Do not thinkBecause I listenI careAnd if you lieSay goodbyeTo anything moreThan detached professionalism Because it is blatant disrespect That made you tell meAn untruthAnd you thinkThat I am stupid As you areNo lie is insignificant Because if you’ll tell a tiny oneFor no good reasonThen you’ll lie About important thingsAnd if you’ll lieYou’ll stealAnd now I know Everything I already did Love and zero tolerance from Appalachia, ~Amy P.s. there really truly is snow on the mountain!! I TOLD you it was cold yesterday! P.ps. I forgot to include a poem from a real poet. So here ya go…

Yesterday was tank tops and sunroofsToday was wind and rainShould have enjoyed it more because Tomorrow is more of the sameI shouldn’t try to rhymeIt’s too hard to keep upMomentumUmmUmmmmmCould write about the skies of blueBirds diving after fliesCould tell you how to sit and watchFor a wood duck to flap byGood days in bootsSpent caring for the landAre here and gone before you knowPassed through like grains of sand I want to lingerLoiterFrolic and lollI want to sprawl upon the groundI want to see the ridge where bobcats stalkA gurgling creek the only soundWhere do you find your relief? Where can you lose yourself for hours?Shadow clouds on windswept grassDotted with wildflowersTurkeys strut While on their morning strollNothing permeatesThe realm of peaceSettled deep within your soulAnd time is so shortWhen you do what you love Praise be and thank GodIn the heavens aboveFor the blessings aboundWhen you’re aroundYou sat here for some minutesAnd solitude foundAt last, a kindred spirit I will probably work on this one for awhile. I’m not happy with it and I’m tired of it. But right now I want to take a shower and go to bed. Here’s the link to one version of Home on the Range. It’s in a book of poetry I have, but no author is credited. I went down the rabbit hole in about .03 of a second with this and this is the one I chose. Mainly because I’m LAZY…

April is National Poetry Month, a time when booksellers, libraries, poets, publishers, and schools are encouraged to promote the importance of poetry and its significance to society and culture. So I suppose I should share a recognized poem of importance along with my garb. So I’ll do that. Poetry is tricky business It need not rhyme Or have flowery proseBut you can’t write about Things like Ruining a good shirtCarrying black mulchOr how Dairy Queen Cost $18.64For four chicken stripsFriesA cokeAnd a small Reese’s blizzardI have to say Things likeI watched the carpenter bees work the redbud treeThis afternoon From my porchOr I spoke honestly to a friendAnd maybe damaged feelings When it wasn’t my intentBut to bring understanding And how pushing me into a cornerIs never an ideal spot for meBut the beauty was inThe grace that my words were receivedAnd so April has burst forthAt eighty degreesWith blowing yellow pollenAnd tiny yellow flowersAnd it was my yellow shirt I soiledCarrying black mulchAnd no blog post is completeWithout mention of my dogWho is laying at my feetSmelly and greasy from flea treatmentBut better that than itchy With fleas{that one was mine, in case you couldn’t tell} I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud  BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees…