Poetic Days
I feel motivated to write 30 small poems for April because April is National Poetry Month. My plan is to put them in one place, here on Substack, adding to this post daily as the days go by.
I want to make it easy for you and for me to find and to read all my poems. I’m splitting the month into three parts, so this page will contain the first 10 poems.
My poetry is nourished by motion, and I’ll share the new poems I write while on the go. I’ll also share a little about the inspiration behind each poem.
“poetry nourished by motion #1”
CONTENTS
Day 1
On the first day of the week my Puyuma Express Train made an unscheduled stop between Yuanlin and Changhua Train stations. This is when I came up with the idea for this month’s poetry focus. I wrote this poem while staring at the cloudy morning sky and the empty train tracks next to us. The train paused long enough for me to pause on the page for a bit of poetry.
The Pause
Our train pauses
On lines laid down
By my pen:Little squiggles on scribbles
Resting on a bed of sleepers—
Open windows reveal a stony view.A page ruled by steel
Anchors my words
With the speed of sight.
Day 2
I line up to buy a ticket before boarding my train every morning. Sometimes the line is long, but there are always at least two clerks selling tickets. This morning the line looks a little longer than usual. One old man decides to cut the line and go straight to the window to chat with the clerk and get his ticket. Some people mutter but nobody stops him because we all know it would cause the line to slow down even more. I also saw that everyone in the line looks younger than this old man. I keep quiet and wish him well after feeling briefly angry enough to kill somebody. If I miss my Puyuma Express Train then I could always catch the next slower train.
Death Wish
The old man marches to the front to cut
Our long line shortTo buy a ticket to his
Own upcoming funeral.We wish him well
As we board the same train;We’ll get off
Before he finally does.
Day 3
I really felt today’s 7.2 magnitude earthquake on the east coast of Taiwan. It’s the biggest earthquake to hit Taiwan in 25 years and has caused death and damage. The 58 aftershocks left me feeling a little dizzy throughout the day. Of course I had to write about the earthquake!
after this morning’s quake
i am safely shaken
after an impromptu dance
with gravity leaves me
breathless and feeling drunk
i ride my scooter in a cautious daze
stopping at the red—
how do i trust the ground to hold me safe now?
Day 4
Today’s poem was actually written yesterday on the train, but I wanted to share some news about the earthquake first. Here’s my poem about how I felt primed for the day. I guess I was wrong. You can feel ready and primed for anything until an earthquake or some unforeseen accident or incident disrupts you.
Primed for the Day
I paid a prime amount
(73 new taiwan dollars)
for a random prime location
(car 3 seat 13)
on the puyuma express train
leaving the yuanlin station at a prime time
(23 minutes after 7 o’clock)my grey neighor reads the train magazine
maroon claws turn to page 5 in delightat changhua station a young student
drives her new smartphone hard
studying how to escape her reality
while i trap her on page 1the day is ripe for pickpocketing poetry
Day 5
I try not to write about the person sitting next to me in case they start reading what I’m writing. I’d feel the same about taking photos of someone sitting right next to me. But today I had time to write something about the high school student who sat next to me while tapping away at her phone. She was in her own world all the way to Taichung Station.
Escape Velocity
At Changhua Station a young lady
Sits next to me—she’s drivingA smartphone with two hands
(as am I).She’s studying how to escape reality
While I’m trying to catch her on the page.
Day 6
Watching this baby playing with its dad really made my day. Then when the mom came in and watched the two playing together, I felt such a boost of positivity I just had to write a little poem about it.
Gurgle Chat
Dad & Baby chat over there:
42W & 42A.
Mom enters from the back
In a pink polka dotted dress
With pink hair, pink nails,
& a pink smile, & smelling of roses.
Busy baby plays peekaboo
& Mom sits behind—& watches & sighs
Until baby sees Mom in all her pink extravagance—
Gurgling peekaboopeekaboopeekaboop!
Day 7
Stop Writing Alone’s Nicole Rivera hosted a Poetry Prompt Party on Friday night. We looked at Joy Harjo’s 2023 poem in The New Yorker, “I am a prayer” and then tried to write a few of our own lines using concrete and abstract nouns to complete the sentence frame: I am a __ of __.
For example: I am a prayer of rain.
Out of the 13 sentences frames I wrote, “I am the thumb of mercy,” is the one that stuck out for me as the most poetic, and it is the sentence frame that inspired the poem below.
Thumb Tactics
I am your thumb of justice and mercy when others least deserve it.
I’m your thumb war!I am your thumb of strength in a handshake meant for friendships.
I’m your thumb!I am the silent thumb you lost in your mouth as a disquieted child.
I’m that dumb thumb!I am your mother’s thumb wiping away honest tears.
I’m her thumb!I am your numb thumb of injury holding the trigger finger ready.
I’m numb!I am a thumb of a good job well done to bend as your choose.
I’m thumbs up!I am your lost thumb of desertion ready to hitchhike back home.
I’m all thumbs!I am your sesame seed covered thumb after a breakfast bun.
I’m green!I am your thumb trapped in a thimble you wear into battle.
I’m humbled!
Day 8
The most random of things sometimes sparks a poem in me. The “for sale” sign I saw today made me think of the very short and very sad untitled Ernest Hemmingway story:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
so the story goes
the for sale sign
says unworn baby shoes—
I purchase them all even though
my kids are teenagersand my heart has been broken
by our own unborn lives ended
before shoes were ever thought of—
when sound made black and white picturesand those tiny pictures brought us joy
and joy wore your smile best,
and your smile also birthed hope in me:
these embryos would be viableand our dreams of parenthood
would be a dream no more
Day 9
Today’s poem is not from on the train, but from underneath the elevated railway. I take our little maltipoo, Coco, for a walk and a sniff under the elevated railway when I get home from work. Today I watched a little boy of about 2 or 3 walk around spraying things with his little spray bottle.
Rain
Today’s forecast said rain:
But the sky is fifty shades of cloud—
Rain must be destined for another dayUntil grandpa puts on his blue cap
To walk his grandson in twilight delight.
As sun turns away from the dying dayThe boy uses a spray bottle
To water the trees, the flowers, and the dry
Statues cry tears almost like rain—I marvel at how proud he makes
Us all feel about making it rain today
As forecast by one boy’s mighty imagination.
Day 10
I walk past more than my fair share of Family Marts and 7-elevens on my way to and from the Yuanlin and Taichung Train stations. I sometimes see the oddest people hanging out.
Urges
Unexplainable to me,
To be found at the 7-11 on the corner,With a deep desire for an ice cold beer and a hotdog,
No, two hotdogs stuffed into one roll.Ketchup bleeds onto my fingers as I bite.
(I relish the relish, but miss the mistard)I sit alone with hot and cold in each hand
Trying to understand what’s come over me—“Don’t look at me now, just listen to my voice.”
I look at the owner of the voice, sitting opposite me.“The CIA and the FBI are controlling my brain waves.”
I look away, chewing faster.“With medicine. Look it up.”
I look up at the LED lights and swallow.“Google it. It’s on You Tube.”
I feel dizzy as I lick my fingers clean.I make it home
On time as usual.