Poetry’s everywhere in Houston. University of Houston boasts a well-known program in creative writing. Inprint hosts an array of literary giants. Houston Arts Alliance gives grants to starving artists who live in the one major American city where you can afford to be an urban poet and make your rent.

April's barely half over and Edward Hirsch, Gabrielle Calvocoressi, and the always provocative Amiri Baraka have already been to town, with plenty more to come.

But this alone isn’t why Houston is so poetic. Great poetry comes from unexpected collisions. When high and low, beautiful and grotesque, old and new collide, language produces ecstasy. The Bayou City’s “No Zoning” sensibility was made for writers of all stripes. You can enjoy many great literary events this April, but you don’t have to be a poet or even a lover of poetry to celebrate National Poetry Month.

Try any of the following:

1.) Write sonnets about bluebonnets.
There’s no better muse than Texas’ own state flower. Listen to the scientific name: Lupinus Texensis. It’s already poetry. TexasLessTraveled.com offers advice about routes. Hop in your car, avoid the main roads, and pray you haven’t missed the peak season. If you have, all the better: Disappointment makes for great poetry.

2.) If you can’t compose poetry and drive at the same time, which no doubt will be illegal before tweeting and driving, take a spin around the Houston Arboretum and Plant Center. There are enough flora and fauna to keep your eyes quick and your pen quicker. If you’re too lazy to walk around, avail yourself of a digital shortcut and check out their rotating web gallery of flowers. Parsley Hawthorn and American Beautyberry are either nature’s best or the latest in debutante rejects from an MTV “reality” series. Pick whichever inspires you more.

3.) Take a class with Inprint or join a reading group like the Verbos-City Houston Poetry Slam Showcase. Hell, think bigger and form a commune or a cult. Why should comet-riding isolationists have all the fun? Try this: write an ode to comet Hale-Bopp. Maybe that’s too depressing. Should we go back to the bluebonnets?

4.) What’s more terrifying — learning to write or learning to dance? With the Flamenco Poets Society you don’t have choose.

Founded by artistic director Julietta Parra Ducote, the society dedicates itself to the promotion of Spanish and Latin American literary and flamenco arts. Check out their Café Cantante Series, which has brought together poets, musicians, and dancers. Here’s a clip from Fiesta Flamenca hosted by the Artery. The Artery is also planning an upcoming event — a reading of love poetry in Spanish by Guillermo Hernández Espinosa — that's yet to be scheduled.

In the meantime, take solace from the words of their current featured poet, the great Federico García Lorca, who years ago, in his Dark Sonnets, wrote: “A crowd of people leaps in the gardens / eager to glimpse your body.” Poetry’s sexy: Give it a try.

5.) If flamenco gets your juices flowing, you can also head over to one of the newest restaurants near Washington street, Table Seven. I went the other night and discovered that this April a tasty meal will be accompanied by live performances by Amin Safari, who blends Flamenco and Persian music to stirring effect. You may not write your best poems in the darkened restaurant, but who knows what might happen if you bring the right company.

6.) Visit a bat colony and commune with another species. Start with the Waugh Bridge Bat Colony, which the city of Houston calls one of Houston’s best kept secrets. Funny, driving by on Allen Parkway I swear I’ve seen both bats and a sign for the bat colony. Some secret. And why is “Bat Colony” in quotation marks on the sign? Is this an ironic colony?

Even better check out the bat viewing etiquette spelled out by the city: “Please do not stand under the bridge during the emergence.” Yes. It would annoy the bats and perhaps also the speeding cars and trucks. Nevermind all that: Pretend you’re a bat and turn your squeaks into song. Or aim higher: Pretend you’re John Milton, who lost his sight but wrote one of the greatest epic poems in any language.

7.) Write an ode to the tragic fall of Enron. Or WorldCom. Or Bear Sterns (a company: not a leather bar). Or pick your favorite collapse. There are so many you might wonder if the corporation is more endangered than poetry.

Start with “Oh, Enron, how low thou hast fallen!” Try alliteration: “Oh curs, oh collapsing corporation, I castigate your criminal consciences!” The sky’s the limit. Lucy Prebble created the blockbuster theatrical hit Enron, which premiered in the UK but just opened on Broadway. In a play someone gets stuck playing Ken Skilling, but in a poem, you can unleash torrents of rage to your heart’s content and still claim that no human subjects were injured or killed in the making of your masterpiece.

8.) Introduce rhyme into everyday conversation. Come on, we’ve all read Dr. Seuss: “Oh new light rail / please don’t fail / Please do not block it / Even if you must mock it.” Ouch: that also rhymes with “Houston Rockets.”

So you see, you are a poet, even if you didn’t know it.