#npm2017

[chesterhopewell]

I created these Moleskine notebook-inspired pieces (spray paint, pen, and marker on wood) and left them around Atlanta for #fafatl — a free art scavenger hunt of sorts, mostly on Instagram — to celebrate National Poetry Month and promote my first solo show, A Poet’s Notebook: The Musings of Chester Hopewell.

[cobanionsmith]

There Is Nothing New Under the Sun

What has been will be again, except me–I am a new creation.

PAD Day 14 (common saying)

[shredsandpatches]

[NPM17] National Poetry Month day 5

Break of Day John Donne

’Tis true, ’tis day, what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise because ’tis light? Did we lie down because ’twas night? Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither, Should in despite of light keep us together.

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye; If it could speak as well as spy, This were the worst that it could say, That being well I fain would stay, And that I loved my heart and honour so, That I would not from him, that had them, go.

Must business thee from hence remove? Oh, that’s the worst disease of love, The poor, the foul, the false, love can Admit, but not the busied man. He which hath business, and makes love, doth do Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

[fiulibrary]

Come browse our National Poetry Month 2017 collection!

[cobwebsandmirrors]

There and back again

Dawn, the sun rises, Half a world away again, But memories serve.

[pohem]

( the silent sounds, of, #100days) not who we want to be where faces force shapes to control the contortion of its causality in the daytime lay-lines the race is at the centre of every winning mile mouths too tight to grieve the waning of the ways we once sought to be it's the shifting in our skin (the silent sounds, of) the itching tearing through our foibles and fables switching out these lies as lives turned tide on themselves it's not the glitching or the wishing of the info-framed the infamous strained in the stark stereo of lives moving in motion yet, standing so certainty still #100days ©BryanMcLean 2017 http://lyinghere.com #npm17

[thegoodpoetry]

“The Sun Has Long Been Set” by William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850) The sun has long been set,   The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet   Among the bushes and trees; There’s a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo’s sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky.   

[cobanionsmith]

Faith

The belief that the last pear muffin will still be there in the morning.

PAD 2017 Day 24 (Faith)

[shredsandpatches]

[NPM17] National Poetry Month, day 3 (belated)

[What horror to awake at night] Lorine Niederer

What horror to awake at night and in the dimness see the light.               Time is white               mosquitoes bite I’ve spent my life on nothing.

The thought that stings. How are you, Nothing, sitting around with Something’s wife.               Buzz and burn               is all I learn I’ve spent my life on nothing.  

I’m pillowed and padded, pale and puffing lifting household stuffing—               carpets, dishes               benches, fishes I’ve spent my life in nothing.

[kidneygram]

NPM: Find resources to help prepare yourself & those in your care for unexpected emergencies. https://t.co/AsE0LaN6mC #preparedness #NPM2017 pic.twitter.com/O1q8miBH17

— RenalSupportNetwork (@RSNhope) September 26, 2017

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 8

The cat’s song Mine, says the cat, putting out his paw of darkness. My lover, my friend, my slave, my toy, says the cat making on your chest his gesture of drawing milk from his mother’s forgotten breasts. Let us walk in the woods, says the cat. I’ll teach you to read the tabloid of scents, to fade into shadow, wait like a trap, to hunt. Now I lay this plump warm mouse on your mat. You feed me, I try to feed you, we are friends, says the cat, although I am more equal than you. Can you leap twenty times the height of your body? Can you run up and down trees? Jump between roofs? Let us rub our bodies together and talk of touch. My emotions are pure as salt crystals and as hard. My lusts glow like my eyes. I sing to you in the mornings walking round and round your bed and into your face. Come I will teach you to dance as naturally as falling asleep and waking and stretching long, long. I speak greed with my paws and fear with my whiskers. Envy lashes my tail. Love speaks me entire, a word of fur. I will teach you to be still as an egg and to slip like the ghost of wind through the grass. —Marge Piercy

[chesterhopewell]

Alternative Routes

You set fire to my pipes burning bridges along the way the highway between you and me billowed with a thick black smoke, communication wires ripped, what once was concrete, air, nothing but taillights, searching for headlights, steer clear of your area, major gridlock jammed our connection, blocked indefinitely, we'll have to find another way, an alternative route to Cheshire Bridge.

[cobanionsmith]

The Last Word

The sad poet wiped her wet eyes since April's last night was so nigh. She wrote one last time-- a poem with rhyme; its last word was simply "goodbye."

[kidneygram]

NPM: Find resources to help prepare yourself & those in your care for unexpected emergencies. https://t.co/AsE0LaN6mC #preparedness #NPM2017 pic.twitter.com/S7EjwjfAhe

— RenalSupportNetwork (@RSNhope) September 17, 2017