NaPM April 01, 2017

[Todd]

Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month. 


Topic 01: April Fools Day makes me think of Fool's Gold. Write a poem inspired by confusing or misidentifying something or someone.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[just mercedes]

This is burrealist's fault. I read 'bear' below the link to this post, and off it went.

After Goldilocks


Momma Bear thinks Goldilocks should have
been locked up. She’s angry. Baby Bear misses
his friend. He liked having someone smaller
than him in the house.He’s sad. Poppa Bear
agrees with Momma for the sake of peace but
secretly he doesn’t think it’s Goldi’s fault.

‘What kind of parents’ wonders Momma ‘allow
a child that age to go walking into the woods,
all alone?’ She’s disgusted. Baby Bear doesn’t
like being alone much, doesn’t understand why
anyone is afraid of the woods. He’s confused.
Poppa nods, wonders about Momma’s parents
though. He’s not investing in this situation.

Frantic when Goldi didn’t come home that night,
her mother called the police, who found her deep
in the forest, in bed with a young bear. Two adults
were asleep in the same room. Arrested and charged
with unlawful imprisonment, the Bears asked the
Hells Angel’s lawyer to represent them in court. He
was sharp, and cheap.

‘She broke and entered, why wasn’t she charged?’
Momma got stroppy fast. ‘Who’s going to pay for
the broken chair? When will Baby get his bed-clothes
back from forensics?’ The rape charge was dropped
after Goldi underwent physical examination by a
Court-appointed doctor. ‘I don’t mind sleeping
on the rug beside my bed.’ Baby Bear makes peace.

Poppa Bear, who’s usually just right, wants them
to think about it from the police’s point of view.
‘Remember, we’re three hairy homosexual males
who ride motorbikes. They don’t understand us
at all, never seen gay men make a family before.
Just be glad we got off so lightly. Home detention
is no problem in winter; we’ll hibernate at home.
And maybe it’s time to look around for a little
baby sister bear for you, son. Your Momma is
a great little mother, for a man.’

[billy]

You set the bar too high you bugger

[Wjames]

Canadian Quarters


I slink past the guard
on my way to the machines,
careful not to look suspicious.

There’s a woman inside,
so I take the two machines beside her
hoping she’ll block the guards view.

While I load in my whites,
I hear the guard’s pants ruffle
as he starts to make his rounds.

I fumble for the change in my pocket,
and jam quarters into the machine.
One slips and clinks to the floor —
I freeze.

The guard bends over, picks it up,
hands it back, and walks away.

[Lizzie]

see jane run


she thinks i love her
i don't
but i'm cradling
that belief—
it'll make touching her easier

she's nine but smells like thirteen—
strawberry Lip Smackers
and Love's Baby Soft perfume—
the shit parents gift their budding daughters
to mask the musk of first periods

i don't like em young
i don't like anyone

but i can get her
to perform on command
like she's hypnotized—
i snap my fingers
and smile
as she heels to me

—such a good girl—

i love
to watch her run

[billy]

Lothario.

Testicles the cat,
My ginger fuckin' Tom
Had majestic balls that swung

Slung between his hairy legs.
Below a puckered arse
Queens would swoon.

As the Titaned Titan crooned;
Then silence in a whisker's peace
Followed with another rasping croony tune.

And then he lost
His sexy voice
Care of the local vet.

[Franklin'sMan]

Ruffled, wrapped in my fists
I draw with your collar the kiss
to my lips
your heart fell low
to beat for me
in your hips.
What’s past breaks ‘way
from light of day;
my dew’s dried in the dawn.
I do not love
you were wrong.

[ellajam]

First (And Last) Cherry Pie

Their crimson gleam was highlighted with maps
of burgundy and fuscia freckled bits;
each slender stem, a feather for their caps,
was firmly held above their stony pits.

As sifted flour fine-cut with butter chilled
each skin was sliced to let the pit escape,
vermilion flesh and juices slowly filled
the bowl. With rolling pin the crust took shape,

a golden sheet to line the hammered pan,
long strips, their edges crimped, all set to weave
a latticed top. The recipe got one last scan:
the missing almond extract was retrieved.

The oven timed our anxious hour's wait,
aromas of the crust and bubbling fruit
caused minds and mouths to salivate.
Then noses noticed trouble was afoot:

A t mistaken for a T! Say Nay!
Inedible, now stamped a Scarlet A.

[ellajam]

Mucked

The meter's mucked
and I no longer care.
That rhyme is fucked,
too bad, my cupboard's bare.
The point is moot,
I'll keep it 'though it's screwed.
A missing foot?
An extra one? I'm booed.
My brain is fried,
I'm finished for today.
I guess I'll try
again some other day.

[Keith]

Miss Representation

When she was seven
we played a game
matching heads to bodies and legs.
a little girls face, strong arms
with anchor tattoos
footballers legs
and army boots.

And so she made the image match
stronger faster quicker,
hard to catch,
brighter braver better
than the best.
She became herself.

At seventeen they dropped the veil
of the beauty queen, eating only apples
to fall fast asleep.
When she woke I cried,
thinner weaker slower
something died inside.
Quiet dull compliant,
tethered to the tugboats pull.
She wanted the boys
to flock like gulls.

At twenty one she started to see
beyond the braille books
of how a female should look
in preparation for male approval,
an ill placed hand can break
the darkest of spells.

So now she stands ahead of the table,
pens take note when she speaks
a guide for the weak, all are equal.
The papers reported her success
with questions of tummy tucks
and real or fake breasts.
They missed the anchor tattoo.

[ellajam]

@keith: yummy

[CRNDLSM]

A giant bowl of whipped cream
and chocolate chips is all the boy
wanted from the buffet.  He prepped
all day to stuff his face.  Showing
his glorious dessert to his bro's
at the table, dipped the spoon, shoved
a heaping portion in his mouth,
only to ask for ten more years,
'Why would anyone ever put sour cream at the dessert bar?!'

---

I'll never forget at the vet I worked for, a family brought a cat in to be spayed.  After anesthetized it, making an insertion, the doctor looks up and says, 'this cat is a boy!' They parts were so small no one had any idea

Lothario.

Testicles the cat,
My ginger fuckin' Tom
Had majestic balls that swung

Slung between his hairy legs.
Below a puckered arse
Queens would swoon.

As the Titaned Titan crooned;
Then silence in a whisker's peace
Followed with another rasping croony tune.

And then he lost
His sexy voice
Care of the local vet.

[Tracy Mitchell]

My Mistake

Light heats through the stained glass.   

Listeners share scripture, half-hearted,
fingers in the hymnals. Give and take
with God, later over rolls and coffee
with each other.

From the parking lot a cobbled sidewalk
leads past flower beds, temptation, and
the wheel-chair accessible valley of death.
 
I think wiper blades were created
to hold my leaflets without need of nails,
no matter how fierce the winds, how
turbulent the storm.

By two in the afternoon
Jesus settles for the field goal.

[Todd]

Her Testimony at the Inquest

I hadn’t dated since the alien
invasion. In this world, love
doesn’t fall from the sky.
He was from the Midwest.
Looked like he could carry
a pickup truck on his shoulders.
I guess I have a type. The glasses
always make them look smart—
reminds me how stupid I once was. I wanted
to see how fast this could go. I timed the shot
with the champagne
they opened at the table. The cork flew
over my head. You learn to get down
when someone shoots one of them. I never
could get used to the ricochets, the rebounds
Blood bubbled up
like it was trying to fill my glass.
What a surprise! Not sure how
he managed it.

[dukealien]

The Fool’s Tax


April Fool’s Day makes me think
of jesters, fools pied blue and red
of witty things they might have said
as nobles sat to eat and drink.

One might have answered to the voice
of his fool’s-scepter when it asked
why castle-owners all were tasked
with paying taxes to rejoice

in having windows in their homes?
The tax, our fool would have replied
to his small dummy, like him pied
was so the king, in case war comes

could pay an archer to stand by
each window to repel attacks.
The dummy nods but never slacks:
“Tell me,” it asks, “the reason why

“there’s no king’s tax on tapestries!”
“Why should wall hangings draw a fee?”
our foolish jester asks.  With glee
his dummy answers, “To pay these

king’s spies who listen from behind
each arras in both peace and war.”
“Fool!” said jester:  though he bore
the motley license, words could bind.

The mid-identification is who's speaking.

[Leanne]

I don't like doctors. The medicine
they give me doesn't taste nice, and they never
promise me a cure. Just more
medicine, and treatment, and even
sometimes telling me there's nothing
wrong at all.

Everything has risks, they tell me. No
guarantees. Still, they take my money.
What kind of business are they running,
where the product could fail even if you
follow all the instructions (and who follows
all the instructions?) and they still have
another pill, another shot. Oh, the shots!

Stabs and jabs and lists of risks and
no guarantees of an end to disease
but a fine white coat and a fancy car and
I've been told just who they are:
fakes and pharmaceutical shills whose
medicine kills or causes such woes, but
nobody knows

except my homeopath. All her treatments
are sugar-coated, sweet and easy to swallow.
Why would I follow rules, submit to the tools
of scalpel-happy bleeders? All I need
is a drop of sympathy, a gentle tea
that remembers how to cure from long ago,
when remedies were simpler things. No
drugs, no cuts, just the power of

imagination.

[Donald Q.]

Orchestrated

"I've made a note of your obstinance; listen"
he blew into his recorder, a b flat
I believe, but I'm tone deaf with an unsound
mind and no time for his audible ordeals.

Every day we butt heads and clock faces,
he's a wind up, a wind bag. Puffing
himself up as I put myself down,
flexing his muscles and demonstrating
his instrumental precision whilst I lie
flat on the sofa. He says I should warm up,
I tell him he should exercise his tongue
by saying the whole word; "gymnasium".

He drinks a protein shake through a french
horn and bounces back and forth like a
metronome. He says he won't go without me.
He punches my midriff, strikes up the band of
flesh, knocks my air from me. He bottles it.

He sets up a microphone and amplifier.
I'm still winded, he turns up the volume to full,
I press my ears to muffle the feedback
as he raises the bottle to the mic "You
have to face it" he tells me. He unstops my
exhalation. I hear myself. Out.

[ellajam]

@Donald Q:
"He drinks a protein shake through a french
horn "

[QDeathstar]

She had all her teeth

"You looking for a bump
sweetie?"

Working girls have needs
and are eager to please
for a little brown sugar.

"I ain't no dope feind
man, i'm a high class
hooker, you got 30 bucks?"

Bartering for blowjobs
was never my style
but it gets lonely
once in a while.

When I pulled my wallet
she pulled out a gun
"prostitution is illegal,
and you're off to jail son."

[kolemath]

Maharajah Mirage

Morgan the fairy floats boats
into the sky 
when the light's right,
the cold air sinking
under a river of warm
air bending sunlight into coriolus,
ellipsis of demons sailing
on Fata Morgana's sky,

your eyes playing tricks on you
or the planet playing tricks on your eyes.