First day of National Poetry Month was a day, unfortunately, busy with many non-poetry tasks, but two drafts were written as per my commitment, one on the subway up to a see a musical, the other, during an intermission (sort of).
The Suspense of Survival
The suspense of survival
can be hard enough to support,
that, at times, we almost wish it all just done,
rather than contend with the
uncertainty, the worry about how
it will happen and when, and whether, in the meantime,
it will hurt.
What’s me in me wants to add in “if”
silently, though the mind knows truly
that not-surviving is a given in this world, so instead
it adds “in this world”, hoping like hell
(only not like hell) for another.
Home From A Musical
Just home from an old-timey musical,
a Rodgers/Hammersteiny musical,
whose refrains repeated, repeats refrained,
while true love waxed then slightly waned.
The bass was manly, tenor impassioned,
the soprano not quite out of fashion.
Internal rhymes danced through each line
as singers kicked their legs in time,
for these singers danced and dancers sang
as they acted out each heart-struck pang.
Hurrah hurrah for a musical show
that finds the lilt in every woe.
ManicDDaily 
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