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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 5: Write a poem inspired by a myth retold to exist in the modern day.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more
Questions?
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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catalyze
you and your kind
are the freaks of the village,
red-stained teeth
between vanishing lips.
pale, sun-blistered skin
and this rage.
when you die, prematurely,
our bravest ones go to make sure
with a stick driven through
your unbeating hearts.
even then
we still aren´t.
you rise
and continue to hide in the night,
you visit and suck the life
of your own sleeping children.
you sneak in
and turn wary lovers.
evil is in your blood
we don´t know,
only fear.
...
Every day, I cut into my belly,
eat my liver, offer my entrails
to my parakeets.
Every day I make the lie
that today will be different,
that I won't be absurd.
Every night I heal and grieve,
sharpen my talon knife
on the weeping rock.
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Tiresias was wrong.
Perhaps
one should not be surprised
that he could not see
the new immortality.
#IamBeauty
@Beauty_is_in_Me
youtube.com/DramaNarcissus
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The Death of Midas in 1971
The nation now stripped of its color,
autumn gold became endless
bare branches, as Midas was laid to rest
at his estate in Fort Knox, Kentucky.
The Nixon administration glued green
paper leaves on the trees to declare
by fiat the changing of the seasons.
It has been spring ever since.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
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(04-05-2018, 10:57 PM)Bmce Wrote: Every day, I cut into my belly,
eat my liver, offer my entrails
to my parakeets.
Every day I make the lie
that today will be different,
that I won't be absurd.
Every night I heal and grieve,
sharpen my talon knife
on the weeping rock.
Love this, Bmce -- welcome to the party!
It could be worse
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Neutrality
I went to buy a bigger pipe
as Gore’s old saying goes,
so my net enterprise would have
a proper chance to grow.
We reached agreement on a rate,
my servicer and me—
but he arrested both of us,
beheaded my provider,
and lopped my enterprise’s legs
for being super-sized.
I came home poorer, wanting just
to read some news and weep,
but found I had to buy the same-
sized web-pipe for my house
that had been too small for my work
but outstripped any need
I had at home, and cost too much.
I asked, so they told me
there’s only one size pipe today—
I’d better just stretch out
my modest data needs, buy feeds,
watch more to use it up.
It’s all so fair, so neutral now
as everyone can just see:
all pipes the same, per FCC
high-bureaucrat Procrustes.
 Non-practicing atheist
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Actaeon Guild
When cast beneath the eyes of a man,
a woman's virtue falls from her. The greater the man,
the harder her fall; waist high is the new sky.
Every nymph is naked in his regard.
They frolic and laugh before the gaze
of the adoring skies, yet one day his eyes
turn upon the goddess.
Flesh we are, and flesh you shall be.
She calls on powers long dormant, near
forgotten, and he is transformed into
prey. Then come his own hounds,
hungry. His protests are heard,
but only by those who shrink inside
their own skins, desperate to avoid
being torn in turn.
Lest another goddess recall her power,
and announce: me too.
It could be worse
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Alaina Novikov
You will be famous.
Your string will be miles long
with hundreds of little strings nipped
short and strung along like lucky charms.
Your occupation and your parasites
will weave a golden mural
in the halls of history.
Keep us spinning.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
just mercedes
Unregistered
Tane’s tale
The God gang claimed me
but I had to earn my patch.
At the party, half seemed to mourn
while the rest celebrated.
They gave me mud, said
‘What can you make of that?’
I could plant kumera, and eat,
I thought, or build on it
a whare, to sleep. Lonely,
I made a girl, to cook, and keep
me warm at night.
Then I fucked her to life.
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@Todd - Lovely way to mythologize the Nixon shock of "closing the gold window." Reminds me of Zelazny's protagonist in his "Isle of the Dead" series who describes a great tree on which all money is leaves... and, being rich, he resents having to sign his name on more of them all the time.
Non-practicing atheist
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Afterthought
You'll know you've left your Golden Age
when you begin to remember
not in images for the canvas
but in lines to be traced along
a chronicle or a sonnet
while your brother the future is strapped
to a canyon of pain (or pleasure)
gorging on Eagle Rare
and other imported spirits
for what seems like forever
and the woman the two of you love
offers herself to a job
a house a child a life
you'll only read about.
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Declination
The written word is the boulder
I am doomed by.
Whether on a computer or a page,
every completed piece
reaches that familiar peak,
every rejection letter
an inevitable roll
back to the bottom.
This is the punishment
for trying to be timeless
in a modern age.
Time is the best editor.
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He's a punk
He's a drunk!
He's with thugs in the street!
He hangs with the gays!
He touches trans hookers and says it's O.K!
Well, guess what? It's not!
Do you want you kids around this criminal?
Your sons are indoctrinated!
Your daughters are impure!
He should be deported!
He should be thrown in jail!
Lock Him up!
God damn Him for killing what we value!
God damn Him!
Kill Him!
That's what He deserves
for coming here
and trying to change
who we are,
what we've worked for,
what our forefathers died for!
Kill Him!
Kill Him!
Kill Him!
Thanks to this Forum
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Maria Medusa
Date raped in 2008,
left lifeless at a pool party, by a boy
who thought himself a god.
She now casts a snake pit shadow
on sober nightclub walls.
No man is allowed look at her,
they hide behind columns
watching her dance through the optics.
She can't face her own reflection
affraid she will only see,
his stone cold eyes.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
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Love this one, Keith. Very cool modern retelling.
You're certainly tearing it up with the prompts today.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
Posts: 848
Threads: 231
Joined: Oct 2012
(05-22-2018, 05:34 AM)Todd Wrote: Love this one, Keith. Very cool modern retelling.
You're certainly tearing it up with the prompts today.
Thank you Todd, yes sorry for clogging up thread list, it would be better if they didn't appear after the event so to speak since I plan to try and catch up and I missed a lot. Best Keith
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
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