April fell
from the tree up high
and landed
on the ground
just like her father had done
many years before.

The dead grass
and the dry, cracked earth
welcomed her
with such force
just like her father had done
many years before.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.

April never understood what to do.
Be it nurture, nature or
Confusion between the two,
Deep down she felt helpless.
Every day she’d wake,
Feed herself,
Get dressed,
Head out of the house and
Insist she
Just wasn’t like everyone else.
Kindness felt difficult.
Love impossible.
Movement came slowly,
Numbly,
Or downright painfully.
Pain like no other.
Quiet screams
Raced through her veins,
Smiling at the sensation.
Time after time:
Unrelenting disappointment,
Vexing inconsistencies,
Warning signs repeated,
Xeroxed life,
Ye with little faith,
Zealously moving forward.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.

Moist
Grass.
Smiling
Sun. April
Had a lovely day.
She was sad she had to wake up.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.

April had an itch.
She flung her arm back to reach,
but hit something else…
Her boyfriend died instantly,
the itch now finally scratched.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.

April
couldn’t lie,
but loved to.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.

The light kissed April’s cheeks. In a way
Reginald had forgotten how.
The shadow of their silence
lingered on the walls they
had built throughout their
life together.
Their eyes met.
Their hearts
cried.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.

April fell for a happy clown,
The kind of clown who’d never frown,
Until the day that he did drown.
His mouth went down, his mouth went down.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.

Paris.
Rasp air.
Spiral lair.
Rail slip.
Lip slap.
Sail, sir.
RIP, Pa.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2017 – a different style of poem each day about a woman called April.