Welcome to Part I, 30 Days of 30 Poems

Year after year, I started with good intentions to complete 30 poems in April. I haven’t accomplished that goal, yet…

Perhaps—2022 is the year!

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You can find Part II of my 30 days of 30 poems here.

April 14, 2022

Our Song

notes dancing in the breeze lightly
catch the ears of passers-by
wondering as
they smile.

tiger wood baby grand piano with sheet music, a guitar, ukulele, and white roses in a vase

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April 13, 2022

Holding On and Letting Go

The earth holds its breath.
Ashen skies refuse the light
while rain lingers,
fingers slowly slipping
from the grip of unknown forces.

I hold my breath
waiting for something unseen.
The hours deny the truth of what comes next
in a life spent clinging
for the next day and the one after that.

Finally, clouds break open
as droplets evaporate along
with the fear gripping an aging heart.
Today, now, sun, birds, flowers, life—
I let go, breathe out, clutching all, while I can.

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April 12, 2022

Others’ Eyes

I like to think I have my biases reigned in, tucked neatly in my pocket, and hidden from my thinking and action. No matter how hard I try, I’ve learned that none of us can completely control the influence of the world in which we grew up, the voices that shaped us, or the actions played out before our eyes. We have all become imprinted in some way. The best I know to do is to let go of what I think I know, close my eyes, and open them with others’ eyes.

I see you standing,
peering from behind the lens.
What are you thinking?
Do you admire my soft fur,
or wish your nose could wiggle?

a wild rabbit standing still in a garden with pine needles on the ground and the stems of dallies to the right

Could a greater miracle take place than for us to
look through each other’s eyes for an instant?
—Henry David Thoreau

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Today’s inspiration came from a photograph and a quotation from Henry David Thoreau as the stimulus for this Tanka Prose. “In its simplest form, tanka Prose is prose accompanied by a tanka poem” (Colleen M. Chesebro, Word Craft Prose & Poetry, 2021, p. 105).

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April 11, 2022

Nobody has ever measured, even poets, how much a heart can hold.
—Zelda Fitzgerald


The Unbarred View

The coastal plain of my childhood stretches long and wide.

No hills to roll down, no mountains to climb.

I wondered about those places where brooks babbled and 

rocky edges left barely room for a foothold.

But I learned to embrace the smooth unfettered landscape.

When the land lies flat, the grasses sway left to right,

nodding yes and no with nothing to hinder the view or wind.

The expanse comforts, reminding me how the heart swells

when you pull back the veil of fear and hesitation.

Oh, that all the world could live in such spaciousness.

Open, longing to stretch beyond the boundaries that 

keep us closed, set apart.

Today, I will yield to the unbarred view.

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April 10, 2022

A Lifetime of Love

You looked my way.
I smiled.
Our eyes embraced.
You spoke.
I took your hand.
We loved.

Years kept passing.
Hearts grew.
Never forget.
We smiled.
Two souls entwined—

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April 9, 2022

monarch butterfly on the yellow and orange bloom of the milkweed plant with a blurred background

To Emily

Butterfly lands light
whispering a song of hope
listen carefully.

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April 8, 2022

Waves splash in the wind
sending shells upon the shore
treasures and keepsakes.


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April 7, 2022

What You Find in the Woods

The moment I opened my eyes, my feet shoved me into the
woods where secret longings, perched on limbs, inquired,
“Are you ready?” I wondered how many
lovely thoughts it would take to push away the
dark clouds hanging low above me.
And then I saw what brightened the gloomy air. I held my breath with
deep joy at the single, swaying, golden daffodil.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep…”
—Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

With gratitude to Robert Frost for the words and Selma Martin for sharing this prompt:

The Challenge: (optional) write a variation of an acrostic poem. But rather than spelling out a word with the first letters of each line, I’d like you to write a poem that reproduces a phrase with the first words of each line. Perhaps you could write a poem in which the first words of each line, read together, reproduce a treasured line of poetry? You could even try using a newspaper headline or something from a magazine article. Whatever you choose, I hope you enjoy this prompt.

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April 6, 2022

For My Sake

Birds sang outside my window today
and I knew that only through Nature
would I know the peace and love
that leads me on my way.
For who else could ever make
a song so sweet and pure
that every note proclaimed
the majesty given for my sake.

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April 5, 2022

True confession—I have fallen in love with the quadrille poetic form. Creating with 44-words adds an element of challenge and forces me to examine the purpose and intent of every word and phrase. I still have much to learn, but every poem teaches me more about myself. Like the seasons, I’m the same yet always changing.

a single red rose positioned on the left with a blurred background and a small assassin bug in the middle of the rose

What’s Next

When did the season change?
How quickly mousy turned to silver and
supple morphed into road maps of memories?
Where flew the years of balancing
meals, messiness, miles, and me?
What happens next?
Who am I now?
The seasons pull me forward—
becoming more.

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April 4, 2022

Without Words

We walked—
half in silence—half in conversation
that yearned to hide the pain.
There was no need for
many words—
we understood.

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April 3, 2022

Mountain Sunrisesunrise over the mountains with pink, blue, and gray clouds with a hint of the rising sun at the peak of the mountains

The fuschia sky moved
my soul playfully
across the purple mountains while
mandolins calmed the
melancholy forests.
I counted moments before
the silent trout swam
in octagon pillows of lake grass
and the Colorado clouds swarmed above.
Where will this counting of passions take me?

The opal sunrise caresses the secret
As my thoughts begin to rest.

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April 2, 2022

Memories passing
coming and going at will
and stop—remember.

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April 1, 2022

“I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?”
—Emily Dickinson

A month of poems, what a challenge and a calling. I’ll begin with sharing a little about me with an “I Am” prose poem.

I Am . . .

I am a poet capturing life in words and images.
Like the keys on the piano, I am a melody
echoing notes and searching for hope in
Für Elise.
I am writing, imagining—all the people living for
today so all the world can
become one.
I am hands holding the warmth of love and friendship
creating plays that mirror spring, childhood,
joys, life’s fears in the edgy dark, but
ever hopeful,
I am.
I am overflowing with language written in Palatino linotype
or scribbled in pencil on this page.
The words rush through my heart and soul because
I am the wind and sun and beauty of the world
flying by.
I am that bicycle carrying dreams and flying
through life always seeking wonder, eyes focused,
mind flung open wide.
I am.