Todays challenge via NaPoWriMo Website is to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why.
Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!
In his poem “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” Here is apart of that Poem…
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
“The Cruelest Month to Me”
Each year it creeps up faster
The older that I get
And always leaves me reflecting
On the good, the bad, and the times I do regret.
I think as I look forward
I need to make a plan
To take me away from this melancholy period
Before I slip, like dust does into sand…
The cruelest month to me you see
Is the month of March.
For it is the month of my birth
Which I like to celebrate, kind of fast.