from the archives – poems from previous April 30ths

April 30, 2013

we will write these poems
until we have breathed
our last, final breath

And then our poems will
read themselves out loud
for your ears to hear

I am missing you –

we turn our love
on and off
like a broken faucet:
an old fashioned fixture
with separate taps
for hot and cold –

nothing happens today
when I open the valve.
Did we forget to pay
the water bill?
I sit and wait
at the bottom
of the sink –
one drop of hot
or cold would do –

one drop would do:

I am missing you.

NaPoWriMo 2013
was a fabulous experience.  
So many new friends,
so many old friends with whom
I had never shared this love.  
Through poetry,
we have all shared
in the transformative
power of language,
and in some measure,
big or small in proportion
to our investment.
And this sharing
has transformed us, ourselves,
as we have transformed words,
shaped by rhythms,
to express our inmost thoughts.  
All that’s left is to say thank you.  
Thank you all. 


April 30, 2014

I needed to clear my mind
so I wrote a poem
some refuge from the daily grind
so I wrote a poem

My bees were in a tizzy
So I wrote a poem
I was feeling a little dizzy
until I wrote a poem

The skies were looking cloudy
before I wrote a poem
the winds were acting rowdy
so I wrote a poem

The rain was getting heavy
until I wrote a poem
My palms were cold and sweaty
and then I wrote a poem

This month has reached its end
so I’m writing a poem
There’s lots of news to send
so I’m writing a poem.


April 30, 2015 – every shade of green

every shade of green, it seems,
displays itself upon the hills
that fill the skies encircling my home –
when I arrived December’s days
were short, its nights were long –
these hills were grey and brown –

and sad, a bit, but I was told
that green, in Spring, would overtake,
outstrip Winter’s darkness, and the hills
would put on green – from the bottom
to the top – in stages and layers –
like stockings, thick socks for a frosty night.

and so, in streaks and patches to the top,
100 shades of green now fill the skies.


April 30, 2016

A translation – Portuguese (thanks to Dona Maria’s verb book & help from my Filomena)

através das palavras arrumadas
que surgem de um espaço interior –
repelimos as fronteiras, os contornos
de caos, de desordem,
e preservamos um mundo –
um mundo à parte que escolhemos –
que reflete a nossa paz interior.

English (original, from postcard poetry month, 2014)

through ordered words
that arise from a space within –
we push back the outer margins
of chaos, of disorder,
and preserve a world –
a separate world we choose –
that reflects our inner peace.


Author: Raymond Maxwell Librarian, archivist, retired foreign service officer and Navy veteran.

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