Write A Poem, Read A Poem

April is National Poetry Month! There's only 5 days left so I am going to fill those days with poems I love, poems I wrote, and poems I haven't met yet. I feel like people don't write poetry anymore, just like people don't write letters anymore. We always used to read poems in school and I remember having to write them in middle school. I even have the first official one I wrote. I wrote a lot back them, and then I stopped. Sometimes they come out though and I like it. I like being able to reread them and remember the day, or how I was feeling or what made me write it. I have things written all over the place, in notebooks, in the Notes of my phone, on scraps of paper, it's pretty insane.

So in honor of National Poetry Month...

Here's one I just found that I wrote last February:

The whole world's sleeping
And I wish you were here.
Standing in the darkness
with a smoke swirl and a can of beer.
It was always so quiet,
But it's quieter alone.
The stars don't seem the same,
and I wonder if this is my home.

The whole world's under water
But I can hear you so clear.
Swimming in the darkness
with beams of light streaking near.
I was always so confused,
And yet this is still true.
There seems to be something missing,
And I wonder if it's you.

I can't decide if I'm Me with you
Or if I'm Me without you.
Ones not worse than the other
but both have a darkening fear.
Its different sometimes,
Sometimes it's the same.
But the stars don't seem the same,
And I wonder who's to blame.


Here's a couple of my favorites:

Sonnet XXXVI

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
~ William Shakespeare



The Road Not Taken
By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


HAPPY POETRY MONTH!