Day 6: National Poetry Month
Today’s prompts include “a water poem,” “a breezy, conversational poem that includes something that could only be found in a dream,” and “of the Earth.” Did you know that April is also Earth Month? The theme for both Earth Day and Earth Month in 2026 is “Our Power, Our Planet.” This theme is focused on the role of people and communities worldwide in sustaining environmental protections that affect the cost of living, public health, infrastructure reliability, and long-term stability.
13 Ways To Celebrate Earth Month discusses the origins of Earth Month – an extension of Earth Day (April 22) and offers ideas for getting involved and doing something good for the planet we inhabit.
The first poem today, “Future Frittered Away,” combines “a water poem” and “something that could only be found in a dream” – and it is “of the earth.” The title begins with “F.” But it feels too apocalyptic. Evolution leads to devolution, and we are about as permanent as the dinosaurs, but their extinction resulted in the mixed blessing that is us. Ours will likely lead to something. Not better, not worse (for the planet, that is – clearly, it will be worse for us) – just different.
The second poem incorporates most of the prompts. It started out as “I Kill Plants,” but in taking the photo that would become this post’s featured image, I realize that they are healthy in spite of me. They need repotting before they take over the kitchen and strangle me in my sleep, though.
Future Frittered Away
We dreamed
that we were flying fish
unhooked,
unfettered,
to slip the surly bonds
of waves,
inaction
evading consequence.
Big dreams —
long-limbed giants, striding
grateful
continents.
Within our grasp we bent
the light,
bottled it —
sold it as our future.
Physics.
We broke the barrier —
silence —
with our noise
and built a wall of bars,
a jail.
Shortsighted
prison for our children.
A dry creek bed will be
our grave.
Benign Neglect
O, Pothos.
I turn away from you
in shame and guilt because
I know that you are slowly dying
but I’ve seen you,
seemingly immortal, thrive
on artificial light,
break-room eau du tap,
cheap polystyrene pots,
and paper towels. I can’t quite force myself
to make you live on rich loamy soil
and Miracle Gro.
I mean,
the sink’s right there. Help yourself
when no one’s watching. I see
the purple zebrina
sneaking through the slats
in search of sunshine.
You could stretch a vine,
wrap it round the tap-handle,
flood the kitchen. Yet you sit there,
stoic, with your silent accusations
while I neglect the succulents.
They seem to like it, though.
I’m not a sadist.
Heavy arrowhead droops,
surrenders to the suck,
and thrives despite me.
Other National Poetry Month Posts
- National Poetry Month, Texas Style!
- Apricots: a Tanka Encompassing Three Prompts
- Bee Sting: Day 2 of National Poetry Month
- Cacophony and CBD: Day 3 in Nonsense Verse and Found Poetry
- Technically, a Writer: Day 3 of National Poetry Month
- Dive: Day 4 of National Poetry Month
- Storm Front: Day 4 of National Poetry Month
- Energized: Day 5 of National Poetry Month
- Grump: Day 5 ½ of National Poetry Month
- Future Frittered Away: Day 6 of National Poetry Month
- Hell, Hell, Hell: Day 7 (More or Less) of National Poetry Month
- Insomnia: Day 8 of National Poetry Month
- Juxtaposition: Day 9 of National Poetry Month
- Knife Edge: Day 10 of National Poetry Month
- Lost a Day: Day 11 of National Poetry Month
- Many Definitions: Day 12 of National Poetry Month
- New Form – Quadrille Quaiku: Day 13 of National Poetry Month
- Ode to Imagination: Day 14 of National Poetry Month
- Pixellated People: Day 15 of National Poetry Month
Your Turn!
Do you have a green thumb? Or do you, like me, kill silk plants? Do you have house plants? A garden? I grow pequin peppers (chili peppers seem to get hotter with neglect, so we’re a perfect fit for one another) and my husband grows kale and mint. His garden thrives. Mine holds grudges.
Please – leave a comment!
I moved back in with my elderly mother and I am slowly regaining the yard. First year was cut down enough stuff to know what to cut down. This year will be cut down the stuff we don’t want. Third year will be encourage the stuff we do want, and finally add stuff to finish the look the fourth year. Somewhere in there repair the shed and the house. Or maybe that will be the fifth year. Slow going. My gardening technique – if it grows without work, where I only need to worry about cutting back, and it doesn’t look bad, I’ll keep it. Benign neglect followed by harsh love.
“Benign neglect followed by harsh love.” Sounds like a line for a poem, Erin. Your gardening technique makes sense; mine has the aspirations of a Victorian greenhouse with the skills of the Sonoran desert.