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Robert Ronnow May 23
Late April and only
coltsfoot—Tussilago farfara—breaking leaf litter.
Our daffodils, peonies and crocuses
are also making signs.

April is the cruelest month, I forget why.
A sweet slow Spring
no sudden changes
each leg and leaf unfolds deliberately. You can't miss it.

New York City's spring rushes like a yellow cab
into summer. One day leaves are wet,
next they’re leather. I prefer this slow dance,
birds mating on the sky, peepers evolving into frogs.

Repairs take weeks or months. Septic,
garage door, cracked windshield, clean windows,
build bridge, buy land, rake leaves off erosion control,
cut wood, prune lilac, paint lawn chairs.

More carefully inspect, identify, the insect
of the week, a fly with an ant’s body
that skirts the grass and falls in drinks.
Look more closely! It will be gone in a few days!

Then it will be the time of moths or fireflies,
mosquitoes and wasps. Mud road,
red-winged blackbird. The slashing stream
topples old trees. My legs hurt.
I don't want to go a
gentle journey,
from convoluted to
convalescence.
I quit drinking again;
found love in
the psych ward.
She's my broken-winged
angel.
So much pain behind that
sweet smile.
She's drinking again,
and I can't fix her.
It hurts, like an arrow
through the stomach.

I have a rabbit that comes
to my yard.
She lies in the same
spot every day.
So much so, that
she has worn down a
place for herself--the surrounding
grass grows around her.
She feels safe.
I feed her spinach, and my
brother sings her
show tunes.
That's what we get
for having a drama
teacher for a father.
Thanks, Dad.

It's been an unseasonably
cold April.
I feel sorry for Harvey;
That's her name, thanks
again Dad.
I talk to her softly.
"Hi, baby--what are you doing?
Do you want to come in?"
She doesn't answer.  I'm sober.
I want to take care of her...
Both of them...
My two little bunnies.
It's cold, and the wind is
blowing hard,
beneath a mean grey sky.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 23
April is in my mistress' face
April is in my mistress' face
April is in my mistress' face
And July in her eyes hath place
And July in her eyes, her eyes hath place
Within her *****, within her *****
Is September
But in her heart, but in her heart, her heart
A cold December
But in her heart, her heart
But in her heart, her heart
A cold December
Thomas Morley (1557 – early October 1602) was an English composer, theorist, singer and organist of the Renaissance. He was one of the foremost members of the English Madrigal School. Referring to the strong Italian influence on the English madrigal, The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians states that Morley was "chiefly responsible for grafting the Italian shoot on to the native stock and initiating the curiously brief but brilliant flowering of the madrigal that constitutes one of the most colourful episodes in the history
N Jan 21
My beloved April moon,
when the poets write ghazal
they are writing about you

The goddess of love,
Aphrodite,
cried when I told her
that you may leave

Her tears shedding
for you to stay,
like drops of Venus

Come back
For the goddess
of love’s sake,
come back
tabitha asiana Dec 2021
she danced with a guy til dawn
but at the back of her mind
she wishes it was your hands around her waist,
your arms pulling her closer to you,
your chin on her shoulder,
your heartbeat she's listening to,
your body she hugged so tight,
you she was flirting with all night.
and even though you shattered her heart into pieces,
she was still hopelessly hoping it was you.
it has always been about you.
ain't that a little pathetic for someone who decided the break-up?
found this writing in my 2018 journal and i want to share this to you all. i wish i could have formal education in writing so it's not cliche as this.
monique ezeh Jul 2021
You used to say my eyes were beautiful right before
splitting me open, groin to gullet.

(Do you still think I’m pretty, baby? Don’t you wanna tell me how
sober I look? Don’t you miss my mouth?)


Eyes wide shut, I watched April disappear in a
blur of bite-sized catatonia.

(Tell me how good I feel. Don’t you miss my blood
on your sheets? Pin my arms back, baby, just for old time’s sake.)


The last time I saw you, you avoided my gaze.
I was lucid for that much.

(Oh, I know you can’t help yourself, baby.)

Tell me again how beautiful my eyes are, love.
We both know how much I like it rough.
april showers or whatever they say
sahra Apr 2021
strip your layers back carefully
like old paintings
your gold is revealed
simpler times
mmxx
02.10
Glasgow Girl G1 Apr 2021
Oh my…
My love, I saw the moon, and she revealed the truth
Of me, and you, and dreams so true
The lust, the lie, the loss!

When first I saw your handsome face
The sparkle in your eye
I loved you then
I love you now
But truth, it never lies!

You promised me the sun and stars
The sea, the tide, the sky
You took my soul
My heart
My life
But, in the end, love died!
26th April 2021
Pink Moon in Scorpio
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