Apparently April is known as National Poetry Month, and all those who are so inclined are invited to write one poem each day. I'm taking part in this (to the best of my ability, of course) and today for some odd reason I wrote a poem that makes me feel all warm and bubbly on the inside. It's a cynics worst nightmare, so if you're a natural pessimist, please do yourself a favor and steer clear of the joy.
Sweet Tea
She sits
Watching the old willow
Branches sway
And the tall grass ripple
Through her dreaming eyes
Cloudy blue
But still sharp
She sees the peeling
Paint on the
Porch railing
And remembers the
Day he painted
That wood.
She could still hear
The clicks
And pops of
The old record
Player
Spinning and
Singing with the
Voices of Frank
And Ella and
Edith and Louis
And she watched him
From inside as
She washed the lunch
Dishes
And she smiled because
He didn't know she
Could see him
Dance like a fool
His trousers splattered
With white
She couldn't resist
And she found herself
Dancing out
The door and slipping
Into his arms
He may have
Looked like a fool
Before but
He was light on his
Feet and
In fact he had won
Her heart on
The dance floor
So many days
They spent
Laying in that tall
Grass
Watching the sun
Sail overhead through
The leafy tendrils of
The willow
They sipped sweet tea
They talked about
Everything
And nothing
They dreamed
And then they
Made it all
Come true
And now as she
Watches her life
In retrospect
She thinks of all
Those who find regret
And dissatisfaction
In their past
Endeavours
And she smiles because
She sees none of
That
But only sweetness
Even in the
Hardships
Because he was always
Her honey
And she was
His sweet pea
And no matter
What
They could always
Sit and watch
The sun melt away
Behind the pines
At the end of each
Day
Hand in hand
They would
Clink their glasses
And toast to
Endless bliss
And
Sweet tea
Sweet Tea
She sits
Watching the old willow
Branches sway
And the tall grass ripple
Through her dreaming eyes
Cloudy blue
But still sharp
She sees the peeling
Paint on the
Porch railing
And remembers the
Day he painted
That wood.
She could still hear
The clicks
And pops of
The old record
Player
Spinning and
Singing with the
Voices of Frank
And Ella and
Edith and Louis
And she watched him
From inside as
She washed the lunch
Dishes
And she smiled because
He didn't know she
Could see him
Dance like a fool
His trousers splattered
With white
She couldn't resist
And she found herself
Dancing out
The door and slipping
Into his arms
He may have
Looked like a fool
Before but
He was light on his
Feet and
In fact he had won
Her heart on
The dance floor
So many days
They spent
Laying in that tall
Grass
Watching the sun
Sail overhead through
The leafy tendrils of
The willow
They sipped sweet tea
They talked about
Everything
And nothing
They dreamed
And then they
Made it all
Come true
And now as she
Watches her life
In retrospect
She thinks of all
Those who find regret
And dissatisfaction
In their past
Endeavours
And she smiles because
She sees none of
That
But only sweetness
Even in the
Hardships
Because he was always
Her honey
And she was
His sweet pea
And no matter
What
They could always
Sit and watch
The sun melt away
Behind the pines
At the end of each
Day
Hand in hand
They would
Clink their glasses
And toast to
Endless bliss
And
Sweet tea
