Thirty days.
Scores and scores of lines
the lyrics to the soundtracks of our lives.
Cicadas, faith, and unrest.
Grappling with our own emotions.
Building a small community of craftsmen
with which to share
the beauty of expression
blossoming warmth of humor
and ice-pick sharp expressions of pain.
Writing, commenting, sharing
small windows into the worlds
of the folks we walk past without really knowing.

Within me it awoke a bonfire
igniting and catalyzing
a chain-reaction shattering the solid
brick and mortar dam between me
and my inspiration.
What was once a trickle
through a carefully bored hole
between two mis-matched bricks
now, a deluge. Thirty shared poems
plus three or four more
a proliferation of poetry from a poet
unaccustomed to a week
penning three or more.

I am so grateful
to my mom for suggesting
to the fine folks who designed and aligned
this wonderful event’s existence.
To you, dear reader,
for taking the time and the care to read
my works, my thoughts, my hopes and my dreams.
Oft glimpsing my deepest insecurities.
In a cadence that may not be how I intended
or imagined, but
that makes my poems unique to each of you
and yours to me.
We are all different, in the way that we read.
Like snowflakes, indistinguishable to the eyes,
yet structurally unique.
I look forward to next year.
Signing off, with free verse rhymes
taking it one line at a time
A. G.