The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot

National Poetry Month

April is national poetry month. The month many poets torture themselves attempting to write a poem a day even at the expense of neglecting family, friends and cats. Here is one more stripe to bare. A classic poem you probably put on a to read list, but haven’t quite gotten around to yet. Good luck April martyr poets. Many of us won’t make it, but that is okay, because nobody will notice while the Kardashians are in power.

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April is the cruelest month … T.S. Eliot


How to love a broken heart

Searching eyes find only darkness
Fleeting shadows
Clouds filter all light in desperation
And you feel your way through
Through to the other side
Hold gently
This will be remembered
Accepting breath
As you were given breath
Until the sun returns so slowly you don’t even seem to notice
First you feel it your chest
And then on your lips
A smile
A smile you feel 

It is as an infection 

It is a kind of magic



Betty Generic

The storm

Part 1 

Angry clouds stir for the storm 

 I watch the sky in awe 

In the wind and lighting 

The twisting rotting limbs, Rip away 

What will remain? 

Empty buildings boarded up for the storm 

Left behind to be studied by archeologists and poets 

I know what the poets will say 

This is what happens when the world spins and spins and spins

And someone yells 


 Part 2 

The world unhinged

There are no saints here 

Only remnants 

Statues and temples in ruin 

Heroes buried in sand 

All you have to do is listen to the wind 

Rome is burning 



Betty Generic