April Whispers-May Daze

April Whispers-May Daze

I whispered into her ear
hopelessly, in wistful undertone
But she quickly turned away
evanesced before my eyes
My words never reaching
her inner ear fade softly
into May daze

An April PAD Song

An Assembled symphony
An April PAD song
A sensational vibration
Thirty days long
Reverberating
Immensely
Still echoing
Bounding
Reflecting
Traveling
Carried
Through
Wind
Distancing
As
an
Echoed
Word
Flown
Yet
Still
heard

Ella Muse

Ella Muse



She comes
to visit
unnoticed
creeps
leaves
without
saying
goodbye
sometimes
she
comes
arrayed
in red
clothing
sexy
charming
alarming
sometimes
she's
full
of
choice
words
sentiment
over
flowing
confident
other
times
she's
hardly
there
uncomely
bashful
lacking
but the
reality
is
sometimes
she
doesn't
show
at
all

The Problem With Kids

The problem with kids is that
They often come without a manual.

The problem with kids is that
they're so adorably wicked
bite-size cuties.

The problem with kids is
that they're many times insufferable
and yet so approachable.

The problem with kids is that
They don't normally come with extended warranty

The problem with kids is that they
can be insidiously inconvenient and constant botheration.

The problem with kids is that
they're so precious you're temporarily
deluded to birth another

The problem with kids is that they're
notoriously naughty always on the most wanted mommies and daddies list.

The problem with kids is that they
grow up to be just like us.

April Goodbyes

April Goodbyes


Alright.
I'm ready.
Lips pursed,
Puckered steady.
Kiss me...
Goodbye April PAD.

The Trouble is keeping the Fire going

The Trouble is keeping the Fire going



Who is the author of this April PAD ardor?
With combustible talent, just who could be the starter?
Not in concurrent flames existing that burn side by side
But of collective spirit enkindled, conveying collaborative stride 
Daily prompts, daily poets, daily cheer, daily views
A sightly thirty day ignition and fruition of muse
What emission, transmission revealed in each hued ember
Every poet inflamed, incinerates precious poetical timber 
Another April PAD at the cusp, of yet another glamorous end
The only treasured thoughts are...next year can we do it again?

Transformation

Transformation


Somewhere in the night
I morphed into a sloth;
Dim blackened eyes,
Woolly-haired three toed beast.
Lanky arms slither-n-slide across the bed
With slack hand releasing
The snooze button... again.