As you probably already know, April is National Poetry Month. Serena over at Savvy Verse & Wit has organized an amazing poetry blog tour that will be going on all month. Since Serena pretty much has so many of the “professional” or “published” poets covered, I thought I’d use my April FreeVerse posts to focus on “amateur” poets. Now, don’t get me wrong; I don’t mean “amateur” to mean “unprofessional” or “not good.” Rather, I’m using this definition:
Amateur: A person who engages in an art, science, study, or athletic activity as a pastime rather than as a profession.
In other words, I’m going to spotlight poets who are unpublished and regular folks like you and me. Frankly, I think many of the poems and poets I am going to share with you are just as good as anything you might find in a poetry book. Each week, I’ll spotlight two “amateur” poets and tell you how I came across their work.
mutter, mutter, mutter
by Catherine Monahan
yesterday’s babies on display in a grocery store of freaks
pickled faces wink and grin
tumored limbs and withered fish fins
silent drifters in an alcoholic bliss
every monster has a mother.
corner skeleton remembers his and
falls from the stature nature couldn’t carry.
cruelly wired to a fantasy world of
happy giants and nimble laughing dwarves,
he stoops to comfort and hides his head.
hollywood square of prostitutes, lovers and thieves
their empty sockets swallow the museum lights
black twisted teeth whistle a suicide note,
while a strangled throat
laughs at rusty springs and sutures.
electric chair with stirrups
stark centerpiece, black leather seat and straps
what woman trusted its cold precision?
the monster babies wave and whisper “thank you,”
then roll over on their backs.
Mouse Saga Continued
by Sometimes Sophia
The mouse relocation plan is simply in a mess
As two shocking events in a couple of days
Have altered the course of my kind-hearted ways.
We arrived back home in the dead of the night,
And found Mr. Mouse trapped – an unwelcome sight.
Heave into the trash was my prompt, hard decision
As his little jaw gnawed at the plastic mouse prison.
No freedom for him – no, not while I slumbered,
With two shopping bags the trap was encumbered,
Then passed to Señor, who bound it with litter
Soiled by the cat. Could an end be more bitter?
Unless you consider how, with a new store of traps,
I lured preggers Mrs. Mouse into the worst of mishaps.
She sniffed out the peanut butter and sought a wee taste
And got snuffed out by Ortho Jaws – her progeny erased.
No ride to the mouse preserve was readied for these victims -
No succor from a sucker represents a change in dictums
Espousing preservation – it seems I’ll shout NO MORE!! -
(Yet playing meanie mouser truly cuts me to the core.)