Welcome to 31 Days of Poetry!
We have a lot of ground in the few shorts weeks, and we are shortly coming to an end of our journey in poetry.
Never fear, the poetry will continue into November, but it may not be everyday like this month.
(Brief tangent: while this blog focuses on poetry and the occasional society induced rant, I write fiction as well. In November, I will be participating again in NaNoWriMo aka National Novel Writing Month or the time of year that my Redneck Romeo may have to endure a lot of sandwiches for dinner. I’m going to write 50,000 words in 30 days. I would love a bit of encouragement too. /tangent).
That brings me to the issue at hand for today:
to be a poet, you must learn how to play.
we drag ourselves from bed to work to home to shit.
our weakened state
forgets how we came into our adultness
through playground games
and imaginary friends–
all huddled around the swingset
waiting for us.
Up we swung high
into the pirate sea
into the caverns dark
into cowboy town.
but reality crashes down
as our dreary load
fueled by endless chatter
and everything is meaningless
gray and brown–dead.
no wonder every child fights so hard
to avoid our colorless adult lives.
we have forgotten
the small child
living ing our bodies
desperate for air.