I Ain’t a Poet

This month, a friend shared an original poem on social media to kick off her participation in National Poetry Month.  During April, when National Poetry Month is observed, she plans to write and share one poem every other day.

After reading her first poem, Springtime, I was filled with memories of warm days of fun in the backyard of my childhood home. Back to reality, I opened my eyes to see the rose bushes bursting on my front lawn, which I hadn’t seen before.

“I’m not a poet," I said out loud, thinking of how the poem I read moved me. To follow up the phrase, “I’m not a poet,” I began to make up corny verses ending with words that rhyme with poet. I talked with Kenzie, Springtime’s writer, and she encouraged me to write the poem. Almost every day since, she asks, “Hey, you got a poem?” or remarks, “I haven’t seen a poem lately.”

I admire writers who can weave words together to create verses that resonate with me or cause me to pause and reflect. Springtime did that to me. In poetry, verses rhyme and others don’t. Some have a rhythm and some don’t.  It can be a simple or complex form of expression, engaging, relatable, or it can open your mind to a world distant from the one you live in.

In one of her poetry posts, Kenzie, shared a quote from Broadway composer and lyricist Stephen Sondheim:

“The worst thing you can do is censor yourself as the pencil hits the paper. You must not edit until you get it all on paper. If you can put everything down, stream-of-consciousness, you'll do yourself a service.”

I’m grateful for this journey; I’ve learned so much. I won’t bore you with what I’ve learned, I’ll just share two of my works.

I Ain’t a Poet

Written by Amy Graham

I ain't a poet.

Can I show it?

I long to lay a verse of lyrical sway,

Inspired by love or pain or even strain.

That’s the way of a poet.

That ain’t me.

Can I show it?

Yearning to meld words of inspiration.

Words once alone, now,

Looking for a connection.

Like the soul of human flesh,

Searching, yearning for coupling or a bond.

To someone,

To feel something like…

Like – love.

But I ain't a poet. Just then, you saw it.

I may never inspire love through words used to write a verse.

But what if I do?

What if I did?

So now, I won’t repeat what I ain’t,

But what I am.

A poet.

And I’ll show it.

In the Darkness

Written by Amy Graham

In darkness, I found safety, wrapped in a blanket around me.

Just a blanket. It wasn’t great. But it makes me, makes me…

Feel safe.

Fear, sadness, and grief all gave it to me. Darkness wrapped so beautifully.

Accepted hesitantly, embraced instantly. I felt… I felt…

Understood.

Everything began to feel small. “Let’s escape!” something inside me said.

But darkness snapped back, “Out there, it’s bad.” I felt…I felt…

Protected.

Suddenly, I felt something. So abrupt, it hit me like a rock.

As darkness’ sway held me, I felt dizzy, I wanted it to stop.

Then I see a small light far away.

“Remember...” The Light says softly, revealing scenes of a day.

Scenes of my grandchildren in the park last May.

On the swings with the Papa. I didn’t know what to say.

I smiled. I felt…I felt…

Warm.

Rising from beneath the blanket, I saw the light begin to spread.

White, yellow, and orange hues, then a memory, somehow on cue.

A warm 4th of July night on a patio. Me with my siblings at a fireworks show.

Chuckles, music, and loud fun banter, I heard. My soul filled with laughter. I couldn’t say a word.

In fear, the clouds reared back. The Light had more space to use.

The Light’s gifts of memories, I didn’t refuse.

The clouds begin to flee. “Remember…”, The Light said.

She has a final memory, indeed.

Cuddle time with my dearest one,

enjoying a nap for a short while.

Now with this memory, The Light has won.

Deep within, I’d hoped The Light would descend.

And bring my darkness to an end.

It’s true what many say, The Light is from above.

It is Love.