More April Poetry

My poetry notebook is a rather mottled compendium of my own writings and the thoughts, poetry, and information of other writers. In it I have my notes from Kitty's MFA residency abstracts, info on different poetry forms, a first person account of the events of Good Friday, various fragments of poems, etc. And much evidence of many erasures.

Today is the 22nd day of April, and I just counted the number of poems I've posted on this blog so far this month: 16. So I'm a few days behind -- six, to be exact, in my quest to post a poem a day. Obviously these are first drafts -- rough, unformed ideas most of the time. But they're the beginnings of poems that I hope will turn into more than they are now. We'll see. But at least I am now caught up.

So here are a few poems I drafted tonight -- obviously very rough and first-drafty.

A Mother's Haiku

Um, scratching my head,
confused, bemused, bewildered
at kids' rapid growth.

(c) 2009 Susanne Barrett

A Tanka: The Gift of Music

Piano softly
played, Mozart wafting through the
house, bringing peace, grace
to a sometimes anxious home ~
children learning to play well.

(c) Susanne Barrett

A Tanka on Faith

Faith is hard, difficult ~
able to move mountains yet
flighty, elusive,
ephemeral. But it still lives,
ever-present and quite real.

(c) 2009 Susanne Barrett

An Acrostic

Foolish in the world's eyes,
Asking the difficult questions ~
In His Presence kneeling,
Truth-seeking always ~
Hoping for strength in my weakness,
Feeling Him with me, beside me ~
Unlearning the old ways while
Loving far beyond myself.

(c) Susanne Barrett

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." -- Hebrews 11:1

I must unthink, unzip
my usual reactions,
the knee-jerks
of mind and heart.
I pull the old self off
over my head,
slipping into the new "me,"
silky and fresh,
fitting perfectly.

(c) 2009 Susanne Barrett

Faith Stuff

Why is it so wrenching,
so difficult to write about God?
Is faith ephemeral?
Beyond a friendly smile or nod

from strangers in the street,
through my fingers it drips, slips ~
a delusion, shimmering like the sea
at night as the tide rises and dips.

My heart twists, wrung out
with regretful tears, salty and wet
as Truth buried, then unearthed ~
not a deposit, but a debt.

(c) 2009 Susanne Barrett