We interrupt scheduled posts to allow the editor to close out National Poetry Month with her own final attempt at 30. Did she reach the goal? No! But, there were some good things gleaned along the way and some fine starts for a few poems that might actually find their way into the world someday. Thank you April! You gave us something to focus on besides disheartening weather and global human drama. 
Blood and Guts
By Annmarie Lockhart
Sometimes I write about
bloody noses and cat puke
because the universe sends
me gifts of all sorts.
bloody noses and cat puke
because the universe sends
me gifts of all sorts.
Children get nosebleeds
and cats get hairballs.
My world is populated
with children and cats.
Well, one cat, large
enough to be plural
but singular, really,
in every way. Except,
of course, for the matter
of hairballs.
Fresh blood dropped
on bright white tile
is as pretty as life gets.
But let it sit a minute
too long and it can’t be
differentiated from
the undigested
cat food splattered
beside the empty
food bowl.
We take our art
where we find it.
Today I got to observe
the works of my own
Mondrian and Jasper
Johns, mingled
across the blank
metropolitan canvas
that sometimes is called
Tuesday.
Love this. Love your voice. I can related to the sentiment behind this one.
So many people will identify with this poem. Quite the visual. Meow!
Annmarie, this is stunning in concept as well as in scope. Yes, “We take our art where we find it…” and, are grateful for it. Beauty turns ugly, or, worse, insignificant; ugly holds glory and meaning, if only we look.
I love the last stanza, Annmarie. It speaks volumes. Good work.