NaPM April 25, 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 25: Write a poem inspired by a rivalry.

Line requirements: 8 lines or more

[just mercedes]

Jane Bowles



If I could still write it would be you
Cherifa. You in the black niqab
and sunglasses, you in my bed,
wanton as Tangier’s cracked black nights.
My tropical illness. Fever, the room fills
with bugs, bats; parasitical elevators
lead to suffering, wild-imp-nervous
the water. The impossibility of salvation.

Spells and blood in the houseplants.
Small skeletons and knots. Is this poison?
I shall suffer.

Utter detachment, starvation in the sheltering
sky, babyish, injured, brash pain, self-indulged
decadence, more gin, more kif. The Indian
trying not to look at me.

For years, Paul, for years and years I forged
my own hammer and nails.
You eclipsed me.

[Achebe]

Rivals (a pick up poem for hot chicks)


Becker and Edberg, Senna and Prost,
and others that through the ages have been lost -
Igbo wrestlers, Aztec swordsmen,
Papal courtesans fighting for the Lord's men,
JT Edson, Louis l'Amour
tiger from Bengal and tiger from Amur....
the list goes on, but this poem's about
Jk Jdsn and Jd Jdsn
brother poets when the tea is laid out,
adversaries when they're swimming in stout.
For then they hurl abuse in rhyme
at each other
about their mother -
how fat she is.
"Yo mama" then says Jdsn, "is so impossibly fat
when she moves the earth slows down
because angular momentum must be conserved"
"You're a cock who can't even rhyme" replies Jdsn
"you were born after your time, in the Hudson
swimming with the trilobytes,
we shall leave it at that".
And so they go, brother poets of the resistance,
There's more to tell, but you must look my book up
(I'm gunning for the Nobel, need purchase assistance),
drop me a note and if you're a hot chick (wink wink)
a pot chick
a cot chick (think think)
we can exchange details and subsequently hook up.

[CRNDLSM]

[Video: https://youtu.be/XBI8AwLvb5g]

Blanchett

Cate and Shelley
meeting in the lobby,
one's a celebrity.
Emanating jealousy,
'You get everything for free'
'Why'd you come to visit me?'
Hear the insincerity
rising insecurity
general instability
'Because we're family
you're always so busy'
sips her coffee,
coughing, the room's smoky.
'That's not true I disagree,
Im not always in a movie'
Time seems choppy
they hug awkwardly.
The split screen you couldn't see,
the irony of rivalry 
as shes both Cate and Shelley, 

[Todd]

Mommies and Daddies

Bette and Joan hated each other,
but not as much as their daughters
hated them.

I suppose all children hate their parents;
it’s what makes loving them possible.

When I first held my son, it felt
like I bought a lottery ticket. I imagined
his path was stretching—

an escalator to the sky
over my potholed roads,
but no ticket ever wins.

Being a parent is like heroin
in a dirty needle. As a child, 
you only get the needle.

[ellajam]

Rivals (a pick up poem for hot chicks)


Becker and Edberg, Senna and Prost,
and others that through the ages have been lost -
Igbo wrestlers, Aztec swordsmen,
Papal courtesans fighting for the Lord's men,
JT Edson, Louis l'Amour
tiger from Bengal and tiger from Amur....
the list goes on, but this poem's about
Jk Jdsn and Jd Jdsn
brother poets when the tea is laid out,
adversaries when they're swimming in stout.
For then they hurl abuse in rhyme
at each other
about their mother -
how fat she is.
"Yo mama" then says Jdsn, "is so impossibly fat
when she moves the earth slows down
because angular momentum must be conserved"
"You're a cock who can't even rhyme" replies Jdsn
"you were born after your time, in the Hudson
swimming with the trilobytes,
we shall leave it at that".
And so they go, brother poets of the resistance,
There's more to tell, but you must look my book up
(I'm gunning for the Nobel, need purchase assistance),
drop me a note and if you're a hot chick (wink wink)
a pot chick
a cot chick (think think)
we can exchange details and subsequently hook up.

[burrealist]

Rivalry Rhymes with Poetry?

No, I hate it. It shouldn't. It can't!
Yet somehow, it does. It does! 
I chant it out loud over and over:
"Poetry rhymes with rivalry, poetry..."
It's my enemy.
Poetry is a tragedy.
Seriously. It's even comical
I don't know how to irony these words.
I'm woven into language
I can hardly pronounce without
cringing under its heated pressure.
I am flat as an ironed suit now.
All my wrinkles were cavalry against the steam,
except we lost in vain.
Who the hell are "we", anyway?

[dukealien]

For Father-Love


Who were the rivals in
the War Between the States
(or, as they call it northerly,
the Civil War)?
Grant and Lee?
Jeff Davis and Abe Lincoln?
Hardly.  Rivalry demands
two (or more) contenders
vying for the self-same prize -
one woman’s hand, some trophy
of the Final Two, or Five,
or Twenty, but
one trophy.

Grant-Lee, Davis-Lincoln ~
never rivalries although one could not win
without the other losing.
Union-separation for the presidents
though mutually incompatible
are not identical, nor are
forcing submission and
resisting it.

Ultimately North and South
vied for one prize quite openly:
a solemn nod of pleased approval from
their father in Elysium,
George Washington.
North named its capital for him;
South pictured him upon its seal.
Did Washington, they had to know
intend his founding to include
states’ rights (including slavery)
or national conformity unchecked?

The sword decided;
from two hearts, divided
one emerged.  And though one rival won
and handed back their father’s choosing sword
to Washington,
as often when a rivalry’s decided
all were changed.

[kolemath]

Barcelona or Madrid

Everyone plays soccer,
sorry, futbol,
and roots for their home team.

But every time
I go to a Mexican restaurant,
men from all up and down Central and South America
jump up and down at the TV
when Barcelona or Madrid is playing.

It gets serious.
Fans adorning the Madrid insignia 
curse Barcelona,
and Barcelona fans hate Madrid.

But who the hell cares?
Why are Latin American men obsessed with these teams?
Just these two teams.

Is it Because Messi is Argentine?
Then why do half root against him?

Do they see Spain as a bastard mother land,
they, her children defending her split personality?

[Donald Q.]

REMEMBER ME, DR OVERLOADER

He pulls a knife switch,
it's operatic, evil, the lightning
white, his teeth grin. I am
pinned on the motherboard,
wired to my pacemaker
watching the voltmeter soaring.
'Now Circuit Breaker, you die!'
I do. It was not my best plan,
but at least revenge; from now
the doctor will always be
shocked by door handles.

[Lizzie]

DQ:

[rayheinrich]

       


                                          a meadow of poisoned flowers

                                                        still alive

                                                          souls

                                                        balanced

                                                        between

                                                        us

                                                            and

                                                                them

[Keith]

The visitors

We couldn't calm down, even the dog
was feeding of my wife's tension.
The doorbell sounds and she's off like a boxer.
Please come in Mrs Antell, Mr Antell,
we're not married said Ms Antell without looking back
or breaking step.

Ms Antell had her hair scraped back into a pony tail
a crisp white blouse and a black pencil skirt, fat ankles
made her shoes look too small for her feet.
Mr, call me George, Antell without any eye contact
couldn't wait to disappear into his chair using the dog
as a welcome distraction.

I suppose you are wondering why we are here,
it's about your son.
My whole body locked down, an imperial guard
in full battle armor. Our son? I said looking at my wife,
as she folded her arms. Yes your son.
Now I know you haven't been in the area very long
but my Jamie has been playing lead guitar in the school band
for the last three years, but this year they have chosen your son
for the Christmas concert. Stephen! my wife snapped back,
our sons name is Stephen! the dog scurried out of the room.
Yes Stephen, exactly, George and I have discussed this
and we thought you would understand and ask, Stephen
to withdraw from the band as this concert is very important to Jamie
and to be honest everyone knows he's the better guitarist.

My wife jumped up, well, thank you for coming she said, removing a half drunk
cup of tea from Ms Antell's hand and placing it down
next to the untouched biscuits, George followed the dog through to the back
knowing it was time to leave and they were both frog marched out the door.
As is slammed my wife turned to me, can you believe the cheek of it?
I cant believe what I've just heard, who the hell does she think she is coming
into my home.....this went on for a good hour, I didn't help by laughing through
most of her distressed outbursts.

Stephen finally came home and into the lounge carrying is guitar,
Hello son how was band practice, OK? thanks for asking dad?
what's up with mum?
She's fine how are you getting on with Jamie?
Jamie Antell, how do you know him?
Never mind that, how are things working out between you two?
It's all good I think, he can't play to save his life and I've been
giving him lessons on the side, oh but don't tell his mum,
apparently she's a bit of a nightmare.

[Todd]

       


                                          a meadow of poisoned flowers

                                                        still alive

                                                          souls

                                                        balanced

                                                        between

                                                        us

                                                            and

                                                                them

This is lovely, Ray.

[Todd]

The visitors

This was really funny, Keith

[Franklin'sMan]

Heartburn

Ephemeral sheets, bodily sighs
wasting flowers, worn out whys
lingering thoughts, lingering sighs
worn out whys, drawn back eyes
parting fingers, cooling thighs
calls unanswered, wondering whys
graceless lies, startling sighs
tickling fingers, warming thighs
brazen flowers, no more whys
ephemeral sheets, bodily sighs

The title's as much about the subject as about the condition keeping me awake at 2INTHEGODDAMEDMORNING!

[nibbed]

Spy vs. Spy

Words really
aren't used
to describe
ignoramus stunts:
white guy
against black guy
black guy
against white guy
both strange shark types
pointy hats shoes toes
each trying
to out smart the other
usually resulting
in double demise.

[Lizzie]

It's Always a Woman


It's always a woman that tears brothers apart.
Don't let your sex life slide, guys,
or she'll go for someone who looks like you
but is younger and more virile.

Oh, Anpu, lay off the wine sometimes –
one lie from your wife and you fetch
your knife, ready to kill
a loyal brother in a jealous rage.

You chased him with a knife
like a slasher movie serial killer –
Ra Harakhti had to separate you two
like squabbling seven year olds. Weak, dude.

Your brother Bata
was a little hasty with knives too –
must run in the family –
cutting off his own junk to prove

he wasn't trying to get with your lady.
So, then you went and killed her –
again with the violence! Learn to accept the gray
in life, I say. Hastiness got your brother castrated.

And you, Potiphar: tisk tisk.
How rashly you turned on Joseph. Fed the same lie 
by your discontented wife,
you could have dealt with your midlife

better than selling her into ruin,
just because she thought Joseph was
hotter than you. Oh, Potiphar –
bros before hoes, dude.

The Tale of Two Brothers

[Tracy Mitchell]

A bell Named Asa

sounds inside a phrase named bronze
inside rain
a running soldier of green plastic
across the face of a smudged globe.

A daub skitters, slinks in starts
down the pane, calls to your brother
in a voice which sounds
like your voice
inside a bell.

[RiverNotch]

after shots are fired, and the screen


             the noise,

if you want, 
             you have
     to filter out
                         to see

 more than the lines
                     the trace
                        the spots of color and
                 the faint
            suggestions of a
                             mouth

                                     that whispers,
                             loudly,
                     like a wanting lover,
                                           Hush,


                                      goes blank