NaPM April 18, 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 18: Write a poem based around a central metaphor.
Form: any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more


Questions?

[Knot]

Figurehead


A Rule Britannia relic, fixed,
blind-eyed and wooden to the prow.

Redundant icon, one whole century
has passed you by. But now, you may

turn back those tides, unchart the map
and with a steady hand, with purpose

set your course, unseeing straight line, firm
from here, over the edge of the world.



.

[Keith]

Open mic

A fallen fledgling
pulled from the cats claws,
we helped you hold
your broken wing,
fed you on the nights
the nest was empty.

And now there you are
perched on the highest bow
with a song that carries summer,
fresh fruited and ripened
in your smooth sunlit plumage.

I will wistle your tune long after
you fly south.

[dukealien]

Hearst Expires


Once they shone yellow, bright
with sharp nattering and flare of life—
chirping, pooping where they lived,
all opinion, saffron sparks in lamplight.
Now, canaries in a coal mine
they’ve gone gray, cracked voices
harsh amid loud pointless picks
and grate of shovels, cursing
miners who have lost their way:
they warn, false old-line journals
that freedom dies in darkness
but instead cough bile and die
to lie in pretended loyalty
unnoticed as the air goes empty.

Oops - quick edit, metaphor, not simile!

[Tiger the Lion]

Jellyfish

It's a spineless thing to do;

you're five beers deep
and text your ex 

knowing she'll be splashing
the wine and thirsty for whys.

She's swimmingly single again
and might be down.

Do you ever mean to sting.

[Richard]

Grounded

Most hopes have feathers,
hallow bones,
wings capable of flight;
their fall inevitable.
Other hopes are made of metal,
soaring high,
usually landing safely.
Then there's the sky,
our minds,
giving colour
to suffocating vastness.

[cloud]

Fury's a fire
of Amber in April
her ember heart
of hot, heated, hatred
spewing words of wisp and flame
as my sweat sizzles on her face
suffocating me in memory's smoke
and leaving ashes to my name

[just mercedes]

I must have missed


I must have missed the sign that tells the trees
to stop the sweet sap flowing - now it’s time
to stem the dancing shimmer of the leaves.

We played together; flirting with the breeze,
we moved as one, seductive love in mime.
I must have missed the sign that tells. The trees,

bereft of decoration, knobbly knees
and splint’ry elbows showing, wait in line
without the dancing quiver of their leaves

and naked, patient, wait for winter’s freeze.
Where are you now? I called with my last dime.
I must have missed. The sign that tells the trees

the dance is over? Summer lover flees
and can’t be reached. Now I must pour out lines
without electric quivering of leaves,

all bony knees and elbows. Spiders weave
where once we formed a couplet’s perfect rhyme.
I must have missed the sign that tells the leaves
to stop their thoughtless beauty in the trees.



I'ma get back to this one

[RiverNotch]

Megaphone Politics


This horn is a horn of plenty.
Grapes and olives and French grenades
pour out of its wide mouth

which you draw close to yours,
kiss, and spit
tastes sweet as mead.

Or you ram it up your cunt
and nacre clamps your cervix shut.

Just the tip! you blast
through this horn into a rally
of kowtowing Jews,

you want to get the traffic moving.
Fuck-yous slip out of their windows --

Yes, this horn will help you hear.
And like Fafner dragged out of his cave
or potent Zeus birthing Athena,

you'll become a unicorn,
a stag, a devil-goat
shut up by cruel bombs.

[vagabond]

forget the umbrella

it´s suddenly april.
the trees start to sweat,
expending their juices.
they secretely hope, but wouldn´t expect
clouds out of nothing to send
such a heavy salute,
tickling the leaves on its way
to the roots.

[Todd]

Rock-Paper-Scissors

I gave you this ring
as a symbol of being entwined
inseparably together,
but our hands clench
into fists. We have cut
ourselves off from former
relationships, and still,
this union is only a piece of paper,
a zero-sum game to win.