April is National Poetry Month

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April is National Poetry Month

4/1/2025

Could it be the kidney stone was a sign from the universe to postpone any discussion of poetry until April? Maybe. But it is, after all, National Poetry Month. There will be much teaching and discussion of Poetry, but not nearly enough writing of it. So harness your best lovesick, broken-hearted, starry eyed teenage self and have at it.

In honor of National Poetry Month, and because the world is in great need of joy and poetry, write a poem.

Some inspiration, from one of the greats:

45 Comments

Kaitlynn Davis

4/1/2025 04:56:05 pm

The Way my Words Are

It’s burning hot
With gears snapping like bubble gum
Like melted plastic pulled free from the pavement
Straight out of summer days that never ended

It’s spitting mad
No air passes through it’s clenched jaws
Like cotton has been stuffed through my lungs
It reminds me of drowning

It’s lightning fury
Sizzling against skin, the wind smoked with sulfur
Snarling from the recesses of a storm gray sky
Uprooted from the earth, skin ripped clean

The words that stick
The words that suffocate
The words that explode

These are the way my words are

Devon Melo

4/1/2025 05:02:27 pm

I love this, Kaitlynn :)

Ryan Juliano

4/1/2025 05:03:04 pm

I absolutely love the line, "With gears snapping like bubble gum"

4/1/2025 04:56:17 pm

There is evidence the spheres are sphering

I say to you
in the morning
in the rain
as we walk our walk
through the neighborhood
past the jail
and the park
and the school
thoroughly soaked
we arrive back where we started
glad in our hearts
you and I will welcome another spring together.

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:04:56 pm

What a thoughtful and pleasant poem! I really like its simplicity and the calmness it evokes.

4/1/2025 05:05:46 pm

It's about my dog. We walk a lot together. And I talk to him.

Gus

4/1/2025 04:56:37 pm

“Write a poem!” We were told
With absolutely no further adieu.
As April was just one day old
I wondered “could this this directive be true?”

Is Fezzik to be our muse,
The tenth daughter of Zeus?
Or is this entire exercise a ruse?
A bit of fun to keep our minds loose?
Yet as I wonder about April Fools’ jokes,
The hourglass’s sands slowly slipping,
I thought, “I’ve got this assignment on the ropes!”
Inspiration from my fingers positively dripping.

But really, is this whole thing a truth or a lie?
I’m none too sure, but if you killed my father, please, prepare to die.

Kaitlynn D.

4/1/2025 04:58:18 pm

Gus, I absolutely adore how you incorporated the assignment into part of the poem! Really nice work.

Megan Johnson

4/1/2025 05:03:59 pm

Last line made me chuckle-nice work!

Ryan Juliano

4/1/2025 05:04:03 pm

Your ability to pull limericks out of thin air never ceases to amaze.

4/1/2025 05:06:30 pm

I'm stunned at the speed with which you came up with this.

Catarina Morrissette

4/1/2025 05:08:56 pm

Gus, loved that you incorporated that asignment right into the poem, and that it rhymes!

Catarina Morrissette

4/1/2025 04:57:33 pm

You barged in.
I begged and pleaded.
You did not care one bit.
The blood spilt was my fault.
The hurt you gave to not only yourself,
But to me too.
To end it all, a few round pills.
But a second chance was given.

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:05:29 pm

Very emotional! I really enjoy it though.

Marisa Silk

4/1/2025 05:05:43 pm

This is so beautiful and poignant, Catarina. Simple, yet profound.

Caitlin Kelly

4/1/2025 04:58:10 pm

The mornings are dark
It seems like forever
The nights stretch on, the sun asleep early
Will this end? It feels like never.

The grass is dormant, the trees are distressed
Hands like icicles, homes shut up tight
The neighborhood waits, the world seems weary
As we bundle up close and wait for the light.

And then one day, when the air still holds a chill
You catch your breath in delight
Because there she is, right on time
The first daffodil.

Devon Melo

4/1/2025 05:01:17 pm

Miserable March is over (sorry to anyone who had a birthday)!!! I love this, Caitlin.

Gus

4/1/2025 05:02:02 pm

Brought a smile to my face!

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:06:00 pm

FINALLY WINTER IS OVER AND SPRING HAS BEGUN!!! What an excellent poem to start off April >:D

Catarina Morrissette

4/1/2025 05:11:43 pm

Loved this,the ending made me feel happy.

Devon Melo

4/1/2025 04:58:34 pm

My teenage self
My teenage self attended art class each Wednesday
I scoured the draws, bins, and in between spacing for my next average final product inspiration

Every Thursday, I think. Maybe? I can’t quite remember what specific day
Our moms would drop us off at North Star Studio
in Bridgewater

Here we sat in a cluttered room filled
Sharpies, acrylic paint, pastels, charcoal. With supplies, I stared at with intimidation.
Working on various projects

Heather made a lifesize Kevin
The fluffy, rainbow feathered bird
I designed a checkered blue and green painting

$15 a class
I remember her signing the check each week
To our beloved teacher, Jack.
Thank you.

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:06:47 pm

The descriptions in this one were nice! As someone who spent a lot of time in Art Classes I can smell the dried up paints and supplies.

Ryan Juliano

4/1/2025 04:59:06 pm

The Only Way Out is Through

The oppressive weight of the unprecedent,
of history in the making
and making
and making,
an neverending news cycle
of never-been-seen-befores,
the doom scroll of life.

Born too late discover the world,
born too early to explore the stars,
born at the right time to teeter on the edge
and stare down into the abyss.

Maybe it will smile
when it looks back.

Maybe there is light down there,
way down there, the only way to reach
is to fall.

Fall to fly,
up, up, and away.

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:04:27 pm

I do love repeating lines and I really love how you use them here! This was a good read :)

Sadie Petta

4/1/2025 05:04:38 pm

This is so depressing, but relatable and raw for the times in which we are living.

Sadie Petta

4/1/2025 04:59:07 pm

Expected Loss

Setting the table for 3 instead of 4
Listening to Metallica instead of Jewel
Looking at a normal living room
No longer a makeshift hospital

It wasn’t sudden
People always say it’s worse when it’s sudden
They’re wrong

Painstaking years of hospital visits
Numbing conversations of what’s next?
Not being able to go too far from home for too long or you’re the selfish one
Wondering when the last day will be
Of caring for a parent as if they were a child

It’s harder when you know
It’s harder when your life gets turned upside down for years
Only for it to all
Stop

Where does one go from here?
All of sudden your life is no longer tied to someone
But it’s also less without them in it
These complicated feelings don’t exist when it’s sudden
You know how you’re supposed to feel when it’s sudden
Instead I keep asking myself
But what about
The relief?

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:08:51 pm

This really portrays loss so well, I think! The feeling of having something constant in your life cut so suddenly short, even if it was expected. Another thing that people don't talk about is the relief of those who are no longer offering care and how there is guilt in having that relief. This poem brings up a lot of really interesting ideas

Taylor McKinney

4/1/2025 04:59:36 pm

"Do Not Analyze This Poem"

William Shakespeare is not I.
I aspire to no such levels of grandeur,
The life of a poet is not for me.

Poetry is fun to read.
Poetry is fun to write.
But most of all,
The best part of poetry may be,
The surface of it all.

Not all poems need to be analyzed.
Not all poems need to have deeper meaning,
Not all poems must follow a particular rhyme scheme.

This poem,
This poem is simplistic.
This poem has no deeper meaning.

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:09:42 pm

The life of a Poet is not for thee, nor is it for me.

This was such a fun Poem, Taylor! Its just the right amount of goofy and silly.

Emily Graham

4/1/2025 04:59:55 pm

haikus are the only
form of poetry I used
and feel safe using

(don't kill me I'm genuinely scared and don't know how to write poetry, I'll try to start another one)

4/1/2025 05:01:59 pm

You don't need to write another one Emily. A Haiku counts. I actually thought about having everyone to write a Haiku.

Taylor McKinney

4/1/2025 05:02:46 pm

I almost wrote a Haiku because I hate writing poetry so much.

I have this beautiful collection of Haikus and Tanka Poems that I read at my grandmother-in-law's house once, and she wrote her own haiku about the loss of her husband and it truly made me cry. I was shocked at the emotion that she was able to pack into such a small piece of poetry.

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:10:00 pm

Haikus are VERY GOOD!!

Diane Gentile

4/1/2025 05:00:08 pm

The crowd is waving their lit phones up in the air
I can’t think of an evening that would ever compare
I watch as she dances up and down the big stage
She’s right: “It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age”

Since sixteen years old, she’s been the soundtrack to my life
From “Tim McGraw” to “why’d you have to twist the knife?”
Each song connected to a moment in time
Even the most obscure songs - like “no body, no crime”

That night in May was one I will never forget
I still can’t believe she fit all those songs into one set
To some people, she is just someone who sings
But they’ll never understand all the comfort she brings.

Megan Johnson

4/1/2025 05:06:46 pm

I went to the rain show that weekend!

Marisa Silk

4/1/2025 05:08:11 pm

As a fellow Swiftie, I am utterly obsessed and now wish I wrote about the Eras tour. It is utterly poetry worthy as Taylor is Shakespeare's contemporary in my mind.

Gabrielle Sleeper

4/1/2025 05:00:12 pm

For Grace

Do you remember
when we were five and
we'd talk on the phone for hours and hours and hours
about webkinz and boobahs and our pets and roller skating and school and and and -
You'd stay over my house for days at a time
and when you were told to go home, I'd follow and continue the sleepover there
like a shadow, one always following the other
Our friendship was the sun during a bright spring day
full of warmth and light, encouraging each other to grow

Do you remember
when we were eleven and
we hardly saw each other
New school
New classes
New buses
New friends
Separate
Where we were once attached
Our friendship was fog, cloudy, intangible
but not gone, still visible, if you knew where to look

Do you remember
when we were sixteen and
we went to Disney with the band and
you were so excited to show me this world where
I had never been and
we got caught in the Florida rain and danced and danced and danced
Our friendship was a rainbow, never ending
the beauty after a storm

Do you remember
when we were twenty-five and
we spent the weekend at the beach and
floated in the water until the sun went down
The ocean was warm and the waves lulled us into a sleepy state
and when we finally got out of the water, we had a picnic
of pizza and ice cream
Our friendship is the ocean, ebbing and flowing
always there, right where you left it, part of us because
we're made of water and we're made of each other

Devon Melo

4/1/2025 05:05:31 pm

I gravitate towards your descriptions here, Gabrielle, as I constantly crave nostalgia. Beautiful poem :)

Sadie Petta

4/1/2025 05:06:29 pm

This so beautifully describes the evolution of friendship as we grow. It's fascinating how such a specific situation for you can connect to what others have gone through - it shows we're all sorta living the same life

Taylor McKinney

4/1/2025 05:10:10 pm

I'm impressed at the amount of emotion and descriptive language you were able to get in to your poem in such little time!

Megan Johnson

4/1/2025 05:01:48 pm

Turning pages at a coffee shop

The delicate aroma of a blonde roast permeates the room
Names are being shouted over and over again.
How do people miss their own names being called?
Women chatter over chai lattes, discussing boyfriends and bullshit.
An old man quietly fills in a crossword puzzle,
Glancing around the room for a chance at conversation.
I look across our table, and see you.
Engrossed in a book that’s all about some wizard or murderer,
What you read always fascinates me.
I see the steam rise up like phantoms from your coffee
They encircle your face as they go.
All I want to do
Is to turn pages at a coffee shop
With you, forever.

Kaitlynn D

4/1/2025 05:11:01 pm

THIS BRINGS SUCH GOOD VIBES!!! Its like the perfect book nerd poem.

Marisa Silk

4/1/2025 05:04:05 pm

The swirls are never-ending.
They turn, tangle, and twist into each other.
There are deep cracks from weathered storms, failed to be fixed.
They are tempting, inviting, and goading me to do something about them.

The cracks go from one end to the other,
And meet at the center.
In darkness and light, I see these cracks.
I imagine tracing my finger along them,
Like glue piecing them back together, easily altering the damaged.

Oh, if only I could reach.

They withstand and grow as the the clock ticks anxiously,
Awaiting for something to stop and mend them,
like a broken watch that's never reset.
The cracks will never be fixed.

They only continue to grow and grow like long branch limbs weaving together, where no derangement is possible.

As the cracks laugh and hound, I stifle my cries.
There is no repairing these cracks.

Emily Graham

4/1/2025 05:09:46 pm

recital

the lights are warm
my brains a'buzz
my muscles form
a shape I love

my brain is gone
it left the stage
it's like a swan
no longer in its cage

as soon as it begins
it has already ended
we're not here to win
but we've defended

(ok here is one, you can ignore the other)

Megan LeBlanc

4/1/2025 05:09:57 pm

Despite teaching it to ninth graders currently,
I've never been much into poetry.
But, they have pushed through their fear,
And though it likely feels queer,
The works they are producing
Are, for their teachers, pride inducing!

Teenagers are not known for their vulnerability,
And I'm glad so many have found a sense of tranquility
In trying to prove to themselves that they have the ability
To learn, and grow, and experiment, despite initially
Being so loud, so certain of poetry's inaccessibility.

Now I think about the inspiration
I am getting from a familiar location
Where creativity is not my usual concentration.
I am so thankful for this exploration
And I am thankful that my students have accepted this situation.

I think to myself, "What can I learn from these young scholars?"
And what I learn is more valuable than dollars,
Because you must be comfortable with being uncomfortable
So I will try to put it all on the table.
I will learn to push past my fear
And take as many chances as my students this year.

Though being vulnerable is daunting,
I have to trust that people will not be as taunting
As I fear, because my students are open
To listening to each other's souls out loud spoken
And if a teenager can be supportive,
Then who am I to be inactive?

April is National Poetry Month

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