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…

Writing Prompt #432 Write a poem that describes an epic journey a person once took long ago Go back back backFurther stillTo molten chocolate eyesAnd boredomGo back to a shoestring promiseAnd the shock factorSomething differentMad anywayAnd fed upFeels like hitting a block wall At every turnAnd so leaving to get some spaceNo wallsInstead a very short leashAnd blindersBut clarity at the same timeBecause nothing is ever One way or the otherSo much grayThere’s good in the badThere’s bad in the goodThere’s indecisivenessEven when you’re sureThe twin towersBatman buildingThe bridgeGone gone goneSometimes silver wingsSometimes a car I couldn’t rememberWest coast to GulfLighthouses and cactiIndians and rodeo queensChris Ledoux and Joe BeaverSunburns and snow-both in June-Pecan pie and spaghetti Pronghorn and grizzliesPrairie dogs and whalesPetrified forest to Mt. RushmoreI saw it all that summerAnd there are no regretsIt opened my eyes Adventure will do that And love blindsTill it doesn’t This is the one I never got around to writing when I was out of town earlier this month. I knew what I wanted to write about, my own epic journey, of course, but I couldn’t get it into words. It either came out too frivolous or too serious. I wanted to strike the balance. And it would have been nice if I had gotten it to rhyme. But no chance of that. It was an adventure of a lifetime and it taught me some valuable lessons. I still talk to my traveling…

Spring is on the breezePollen makes me sneezeYou can see it in the airFrom those awful Bradford PearsCheese on the counterCheese on my chinCheese is the glueThat prevents me from being thinOne rotten dogLays on the couch80 pounds of loveBut people think he’s a grouch Kiss me when you comeKiss me when you goKiss me on the cheekKiss me on the noseKiss me while I sleepKiss me in the snowKiss me when it hurtsKiss me very slowI’m sorry I snoreI would quit if I couldBut while I’m wishing for stuffI’d rather be on vacation for goodLisa got pigs todayI made enchiladas John Alan rode in circlesNothing rhymes with enchiladas I’m relieved I didn’t make any promises to anybody about what this blog was gonna be about. Y’all would be sorely disappointed. I’m hoping as hard as y’all do that inspiration will strike soon. Hopefully the weather will kick start something in the ol’ noggin’. I can’t fake it. Although I do enjoy the writing prompts on occasion, some of them are rather bleak. And some are so fantastical it just feels ridiculous. I will say I’m often surprised by the people who read my stuff. It’s a bunch of rambling rot, for the most part (especially with this resolution writing) but I appreciate y’all who resolutely tune in for the latest installment of my….whatever this is. In the meantime, here are my enchiladas. I’ll show…

I cannot say you are the only lightBut you are candlelight glowing on burnished bronzeI cannot say you are the safety net to my trapezeYou are a sun warmed brick wall at my backI cannot say you are a kingly feastBut you are a comforting Sunday mealI cannot say you are total happinessBut you are many of my smiles that lingerI cannot say I am incomplete without youBut I ache for your presenceYou are not every conversation Just the one I want to have, even in drifting dreamsI cannot say I long for your touchBut you are a fleece blanket against the chillI cannot say I can’t live without youBecause I canBut I don’t want toThey are endlessThese Blue SundaysThey are quiet and stillThere is hope in the sunshineAnd the budding treesIn the fat groundhog waddling Clumps of green I am one moment closerTo the candlelight, the solidness of youTo be protected, to be cherishedIt is spring, and it is newLove from Appalachia,~Amy…

Well, here we are. Or, rather, here I am, since it’s just me. There is no we. Unless I count y’all, which I guess I should, since you’re reading. Another weekend gone, but I get a bonus day, so that only means I procrastinated from Saturday what I will now need to do tomorrow. Namely, an oil change. I’m gonna make it worthwhile, though, and treat myself to lunch somewhere good. So I come to you tonight, begging grace and forgiveness, because I’m afraid y’all are gonna revoke my Southerner card. Because, look here now, I made instant potatoes. And they were goooooo-ooooood. I’ve got no lies to tell. They’re already on my list for next time. Why did I ever spend time peeling, washing, boiling, draining, mashing, seasoning, and working in butter and milk for *real* mashed potatoes? For just me? These are real, too, it says so right on the bag. And they took maybe five minutes. I really don’t know what else to report on. I have got to finish my book tonight, it goes back tomorrow. White Noise, if you’re interested, by Don Dellio or something like that. I’m too lazy to look. I’m sure I’ve got the spelling close enough and you could find it. Lester recommended it and I liked it at first but now it’s just weird. I’m at 83% and truly nothing much has happened. It…

Do not let these warm sunny daysOf February Trick youIt is not summerIt is not yet springMy summer was filled withThree trips To two different rivers Where I did not fishSunflowers & morning gloriesBeer drank in the barn hallOver tearsAnd sleepless eveningsEndless conversations With friends I thoughtI already knewBut raw with emotionOne relaxing day on the lakePoetryAnd looking at the stars Because I couldn’t hold it inFire trucks at the fairAs we posed in our tiarasThere was coffee cornhole charcuterie and cavesThere were plenty of laughsAnd some really big surprises Summer was perfect as usualAnd unforgettable So February needs to get in lineAnd be winter Because I want more cozy daysBefore I’m a sweaty messOn a sweltering dayParked directly over the air conditioner Set on 65I want to eat more chili and soupAnd roasts and meatloafBefore I turn to salads and avocados And ice creamI want time spent curled in my blanketWith a book on my lapAnd a candle flickering And the wind howling beyond my windowsFebruary should be itselfEverything else is takenJust like you…

Far easier to write a spot of poetryThan to put a favorable spinOn washing clothes dishes and windowsMore romantic to write ofThe stars Candlelight Books in bedNothing much has happened to me todayBut I did get to see a sunriseAnd a sunsetAnd one happy dog in betweenI did talk to a friend for two hoursAnd wish we were closer togetherI did eat some mini Nilla wafersOutside while the sun warmed meAnd I will soon sink into My library chairWith a library bookI will continue to be thankfulFor hot waterAnd indoor plumbingAnd creature comfortsAnd try not to worry About the health of those I loveInstead I will trod on my pathAnd drink more waterAs an example It is still winterAnd will be for some timeBut I am restingAnd I am content In my cocoon of worn furniture and floorsI can wonder what it’s like To be someone elseTo be somewhere elseWithout wanting toI can contemplate what may happenOr I can wait and seeGo blindly forwardWith no expectations Because that often ends in disappointment I like to think If I had a helicopter Things would be easier But I thinkI’d have trouble with maintenance And waiting on it to warm upBefore I could fly away So I better stay here on the groundWith my dreamsAnd just be glad I was given rootsInstead of feathersBecause it’s better not to have any quitThan to be taken for a whirlOn a fleeting breezeI may not be able to do sums in my…