NATIONAL POETRY MONTH 2024
A Month of Poems
inspired by the work of Camille T. Dungy
Writing a daily poem is an exercise in trust. Will I find the right words? Will I do the words justice? Thank you, Camille Dungy.
I set out on April 1st to read and write to three of Dungy’s works. Using her words as my prompts, I surrendered to my pencil and notebook and let them respond. Much of her work focuses on nature, the environment, her relationship to the places she has called home. My responses have largely been centered in my own environment and my climate-anxiety. If you’ve taken the time to read some of my poems, thank you.
My final post (scroll down) and two from last week are drawn from Dungy’s 2011 collection SMITH BLUE.
My poems from TROPHIC CASCADE:
April 18 through April 23
April 15 through April 17
Poems inspired by SOIL: The Story of a Black Mother’s Garden:
Find April 12 through April 14 here.
Find April 8 through April 11 here.
Find April 3 through April 7 here.
Find April 1 and 2 here.
April 30, 2024
“Out of the Darkness”
the dark belly where a slap boils
ugly words churn, shrill
the flute-shattered shards anchor
–as memories will
piercing reminders
when you reposition your wounded self
replay the tape till you’re sick of the song
till the darkness exhausts you
search the room for one sign
dawn breaks
you rise
open the door, squint
in the light of a new morning
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
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April 28, 2024
“This is the year the planet grew smaller”
from the poem “Arthritis is one thing, the hurting another” (SMITH BLUE, 2011)
a planet’s half life
concentration of concern
dwindling futures
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
April 29, 2024
I want to hear what quiet really sounds like
from “On the Rocks”
a rainbow’s power pose
the unfurled leaf
curled around its mother
mud-spattered
sneakers sleeping on the porch
morning’s unmade bed
the depression
left on your pillow
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
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April 27, 2024
“The Way We Carry On”
the purples!
fields of hairy vetch and wild hyacinth!
you lay in a bed of red clover
marigolds tickle and tease
you’d think it was spring
so we stop to watch the slow snail pass
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
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April 26, 2024
“Emergency Plan”
in case of fire
Nana should climb over the balcony rail
certain the wax-leaf privets will catch her
if an earthquake
you will send a helicopter
toward the beacon in my pocket
you will find me in the rubble
the earnest E.R. doctor scolds:
head wounds qualify
but I let you sleep first
the cut too deep to close by then
mulberry branches too tender to hold
your imagination
my go-bag is empty
if the roads are blocked and the ATMs go mute
the dog is unleashed
there is no Plan B
©draft, Patricia J. Franz
Patricia Franz writes picture books and poetry. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 