April inspires romance, war and more poetry than any other month. Actually, April is National Poetry Month. Who knew, but let's see how true.

It's when bards come out to word-play and "sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers: Of April, May, June and July flowers." (Thanks, Robert "carpe diem" Herrick.) The month brought homesickness to Victorian poet Robert Browning, living abroad: "Oh, to be in England now that April's there."

But the best Bard, William Shakespeare, penetrated April's complicated nature in a few strokes of his quill: "The uncertain glory of an April day." That's roughly what Fenway Park fans felt watching the Boston Red Sox fall to the New York Yankees — on the glorious ballpark's 100th birthday.

Bittersweet was what Washingtonians felt when the Space Shuttle circled over the city to say goodbye. Captivated, but sad to see its silhouette in flight before it's grounded for good. People were wistful. Then back to regular order.

April's also when political wars are suited up and fully engaged, especially in a presidential election year. A Republican rabble rules the House, while Democrats run the staid Senate, creating a perfect storm of stalemate. The chambers are deadlocked on a desperately needed highway bill and postal service reform. They can't even agree on renewing the Violence Against Women law. You'd hate to think thwarting it is part of the war on women. It's ugly in there.

Poet Robert Frost neatly captured the contradiction in our political weather: "The sun was warm but the wind was chill./You know how it is with an April day." Meanwhile, President Obama is flying on Air Force One above the fray to a battleground state like, every day.

Obama used to speak in soaring political poetry, remember? His 2008 primary opponent, Hillary Clinton, spoke in prose. Just sayin'.

That brings back a brief shining moment when poetry had more of a place — during John F. Kennedy's presidency. Frost, a favorite of his, recited a poem at the Inaugural. A favorite poet of first lady Jacqueline Kennedy was e.e. cummings. He revived the romantic spirit when he wrote of love's effects: "the sweet small clumsy feet of April came/into the ragged meadow of my soul." The first lady loved sonnets and planned an Elizabethan evening as a surprise for the president.

Just once, let's hear and honor chapter and verse in this White House. It might mend our ragged souls.

Instead, here in civil war Washington, we're constantly reminded the Civil War raged 150 years ago. It broke out in April 1861 — and ended four Aprils later. Can this be a coincidence? April's sharp light intensifies life's dramas, hastens beginnings and ends in love, war and everything else.

For that matter, World War II in Europe ended in April 1945. And the Revolutionary War's prelude took place one April as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's classic rhyme tells children, with the midnight ride of Paul Revere: "on the eighteenth of April in Seventy-five/Hardly a man is now alive/who remembers that famous day and year."

T.S. Eliot, the 20th century poet, had only bitter words for the first full spring month. His darkest poem, "The Wasteland," opens: "April is the cruelest month." Yes, I think John Edwards, Rick Santorum and a slew of Secret Service agents would say so, too.

As for a poetic line for Obama and Mitt Romney, the men running for president, the Bard comes through again: "Men are April when they woo, December when they wed." That's all the difference between campaigning and governing, isn't it? It's hard to stay in love over the long slog. With Romney, it's hard — even for his party — to fall in love at all.

For the record: Obama did a late-night "slow jam" with comedian Jimmy Fallon this week, so maybe he's moving in the right direction.

Happy national poetry month, everybody.

To find out more about Jamie Stiehm, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.