National Poetry Month 2012

Here I am, once again ready to challenge myself, but (once again) late to the dance.  It is what it is, and I have a decision to make.  Do I do nothing?  Do I jump in and offer what I can, even though at this late date I may not achieve what I'm aiming for?

Don't know about you, but I'M JUMPING.
Today is April 19th.  I am even later than last year, but I need this challenge.  I'll be posting poems, one for each day of April, until I've caught up.  One poem per day, that's the challenge, and that's what I'll be focused on over the next four days.

Get ready...set...GO!

Poultry Reading
(inspiration, courtesy of friend, Marf Shopmyer)

Chick, chick,
chick who.
Chick, chick
Check out
that rooster,

Birds of a feather
gather together
to exchange treats,
offerings of love and hate
and sobering experience.

People who
love and live and
jive and jibe; who
listen and learn and
hurt and smile.  Poets
with words
mangled, strangled, fondled and
stashed away
for comfort--as needed--on a sad and rainy day.

Feeding each other
words rearranged,
emotions recaptured,
voices high and low,
murmurs, sighs and
sing-song lullabies.

All anticipate
the joy
of being with kindred folk,
others who rise and fall
with the beat of the words
climbing into the air, wafting
like vapors of cumulus clouds or
falling on the ground
with a somber thud!

Layers of love
fill the room and
comfort hearts.  Empathy
cradles the pain and the loss,
like the arms
of a grandmother
who left for other worlds
years ago.
Ecstasy tickles
the mind of lonely souls,
as words
and beings
come together
a poetry reading.

Copyright 2012 Despina Panagakos Yeargin

The First Breath

The first breath,
that a newborn takes--
that first taste
of taking in life
on your own--
that, indeed, is
the first
sip of coffee
in the early
waking your mind,
bringing you
to consciousness,
in preparation
for the new
held at bay
by the moon.

Copyright 2012 Despina Panagakos Yeargin


It's the energy
you absorb
by standing outside
in the rain,
as you listen to
Isaac Stern
playing Mendelssohn's
Violin Concerto.

You heart will
with tears
and happiness
and flowers,
with a thousand babies smiling
and the smell of
fresh peaches and strawberries,
all wrapped
in loving kindness.

Your arms stretch out
to the cloudy sky with
the sun shining through
(the way it does
in a cathedral
through the fractured
stained glass)
and you feel
that if
you stretch
high enough
and smile
long enough
you'll fly
into all that beauty.


Copyright 2012 Despina Panagakos Yeargin

One of my favourite TV programs is the PBS series, Nature.  Today, I watched and episode called, The River of No Return.  It’s about the one-year honeymoon of biologist, Isaac Babcock and his wife Bjornen.  They travelled central Idaho’s Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness in an effort to observe and be in the midst of pristine wilderness, especially to align themselves with the daily life of the wolves who recently returned to the wilderness after a 50 year absence.

“You’ll never come back from The River of No Return...unchanged.”—Isaac Babcock

To view the entire episode on line, follow this link:

The River of No Return

A ribbon of water
flows through quiet wilderness,
moving life
along its shores,
following a path
made deep
by its mother
made fast
by its father
the moon
and clear
by the coursing
through and over and
polished stones,
gravel and sand;

as it goes and
seeing life
on mountains to the right,
on the left,
leaving their prints
in the snow of many starry nights;
their lonesome sounds
in the brain
of man.

Big boulders,
eons of being born
and of existing,
stand in The River
of No Return
and stare down
a man
who looks
for another life to live, a
maddening quiet to rest in
and wildflowers to
wrap his bride in
when she’s cold.

The sky growls,
its sharp teeth of lightning
bolting to touch
the home of
ancient pine trees
and thousands of
lingering layers of decaying leaves and branches.

These electric
flashes shine
in the moonlit river,
warning all creatures,
“Take cover.  It’s
time for the Gods to speak.”
Nesting and settling
in for the night,
the man joins in,
finding his place under the covers
and roots himself,
listening to the
under his ear.

You come
to The River
of No Return.
You leave
but you are
never gone.

Copyright 2012 Despina Panagakos Yeargin

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