NaPM April 10, 2018

[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 10: Write a poem inspired by something illegal.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[RiverNotch]

renaissance medicine


burn everything that is not rightly measured:
baste in the choler of hungry men
all that is not recorded in stone.

(i'll sneak away the songs i love:
lola's longing for almost-lolo,
Jewish troubadours answering God,
bronze butterflies floating over
the paper hammocks of wasted lives...)

dissolve the pulp in phlegm,
the hanging masses in pedagog spittle
and bits of lung coughed up by the forgotten.

(...pictures of your feet, your legs, your ass,
your fingers plucking electric bass,
eventually your songs strung with diaristic words,
words which know they'll soon return to earth,
they are the earth -- on which new grass will grow.)

[vagabond]

laws

i am a thief
and kinda simple, they say,
like my father and mom.
too dumb for an honest job
like selling or baking bread.
people say it´s the genes.
they do not trust me
though i do my best
not to confirm their beliefs.
i´m not that big a fool
to believe it could change anything.
i just have to be careful
cos theft is illegal, it´s written
for those who were tought to read.
but really, i´m hungry
and even the priest said
stealing food
is not a sin.

[Knot]

Under Section 32
of the Salmon Act (UK), 1986.


You're nicked, he says.
Just like that. I've barely shook
the water from my boots,
rod's still out, whipping
and a waggling in the breeze.

Come along quietly, he says,
I'm trying to put my tackle away,
contain my flies, show the licences;
while all the while his hand
is starting to feel like a great big hook.

No, no, no, sonny boy, he says.
I'm attempting to explain myself,
tell him I'm not handling a salmon
in suspicious circumstances,
I landed it myself, fair and square.

Now, you look here my lad, he says,
I may be just a city copper,
know nothing of the the wild ways
of those anadromous fish and such,
but this river you've been fishing

is the bloody Serpentine.
It hasn't seen the sea since
1850 and back then
the Westbourne and the Thames
weren't as full of ordure as you.

[Todd]

Find the Lady

Her smile is creased 
for she knows you
only come to her 
for the money.
She will be displayed 
but never found,
You will not see
until it’s too late.

[dukealien]

One of Three


Let us explore that basic trio
sensitive explorers must eschew:
illegal, immoral, fattening.

Sin of pride, of grease and blubber,
self-aggrandized bulging, unrefined
gluttony strikes only at one’s self
and leaves it subject to an eye viridian
with envy.  Mere self-preservation, that—
fat’s hardly worth avoiding.

But illegal and immoral - how to choose
a single act that’s one and not
its brother?  Easiest, perhaps,
to pick a foolish law and break it
for dulcetly moral or
at worst amoral purposes.

I choose, then, a major misdemeanor:
I deposit, on the sidewalk of New York,
one banana peel.

This illegal action’s consequence
is not immoral - I don’t mean to hurt a soul.
It might even cause a pratfall:
laughter, sweet relief of stress.
But to balance any chance of injury,
I’ll feed my peel’s fruit to
a starving man so neither he nor I
risk getting fat from it.

[just mercedes]

About the current situation


It’s hard to save a world
from itself. Reason gives way
to riot, without a firm hand.

Certain actions, when examined
by the laws of the land
distort into emotional cariacatures

like freedom, refugees, enemies,
borders, peace-keeping
forces.

We must fix our attention
on the bottom line
and it must show a profit.

[CRNDLSM]

I am not unique.
In 1989 they passed a law
Prohibiting the promotion
of my favorite pastime.
It's not prostitution 
to put on a helmet
and let a party of people
throw me across a room.
They pay me to have a good time.
It' fun for me.
Now it no longer pays my bills
Thank you florida.

[Richard]

Guilty

Red hands remind me of that summer dress
you wore when we first met.
Back then, your smile was safe as a gift box
with my name attached.

Why did I let you walk home
that night? Alone except for the blind stars
and silent moon.
Allegedly, he was there too,
knife sheltered in his pocket,
lint its only probable company.
He wore your blood like face paint, allegedly.

Now, I endure these lawyers
who argue if my murder of him was a crime;
the judge watches, his blue eyes
colder than a winter sky.

[cloud]

In zest

you lay in the next room
something divine, touches on familiarity
that it draws me in
that our blood connects passion
to feel it, your grace feints me
and should we extend our love
forbidden
threatening what we know
and law that binds us

[vagabond]

About the current situation

the last line is almost too clear.
it reminded me of a politician, who "surprisingly" did not stay in his office very long after he said (on a visit to afghanistan) that "in a globalized world wars are also being led for economic reasons".
in case i get your poem wrong i apologize for spreading my interpretation and twisting your intent.

[just mercedes]

About the current situation

the last line is almost too clear.
it reminded me of a politician, who "surprisingly" did not stay in his office very long after he said (on a visit to afghanistan) that "in a globalized world wars are also being led for economic reasons".
in case i get your poem wrong i apologize for spreading my interpretation and twisting your intent.

No, your interpretation is the one I felt as I wrote. Who knows my intent, though? I wrote, annoyed at pushing against a prompt constraint, feeling bitter about a world where 'legal' and 'illegal' swap meanings according to needs.

[Lizzie]

Et Tu, Manafort?

You’re not getting pardoned,
just flip already. You have reason
to be petrified: treason,
tax evasion, attempted abduction.
Confess and receive a reduction
of your charges – it would be suicide
to deny your ill-gotten gains,
your plot to commit homicide
(the ransom and murder of Lady Justice).
You might be whole with Deripaska,
but her scales have found you wanting.
You’ll die in a jail cell,
a calcified memorial to hubris and greed,
to thwarted regicide of the Constitution,
and Conspiracy to Defraud the United States.

[Leanne]

When Disney stole our childhood
and turned it into a fantasy of rescue
and reliance, all costumed in petticoats 
and dancing to the key of gee whiz,
we did not march.  We sang along
and cheered the prince whose prize
was won at the point of a sword,
with the touch of the lips. 

We laughed and aahed as race was reduced 
to white and other, the brave blond
warrior and the dark sorcerer, 
foreign witch, foolish savage.  

Children murdered pirates, pirates
murdered natives, brother turned on
brother as a singing fish or dancing bear
played counterpoint to the blood.

Watch cartoons build empires 
on stereotype, in technicolor 
and send them your sweat in dollars
so they may raise another castle

just don't download it,
pirate.

[Keith]

Love, aahed and the whole poem, many a true word doth lie between the line. Your on a roll Leanne the poem monster, how do you do it?

[Leanne]

Not very quickly this month, it seems

[Keith]

Raised to fight

He looked like a fox
torn appart by the hunt,
eyes resigned.
The bell sounded with a roar
a slavering gnash of jaws
set him loose once more.

Glassed in a bar fight
his cheek doesnt sit quite right,
a fist that can find its way through walls
collecting money on market stalls.

They like to bet
on a trader that isn't able to pay.
A garden spade scrapes his toes away,
the meat gets fed to the dogs.