NaPM April 4, 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 4: Write a love poem without expressing any outpouring of emotion.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[just mercedes]

What's love got to do with it? https://youtu.be/oGpFcHTxjZs

[RiverNotch]

renaissance medicine

here. i'll write you
a prescription. ciprofloxacin -- antibiotic -- twice a day.
for pain: spasmomen, thrice a day.
a diet of bananas
to harden your stool. yakult, yogurt.
and the weakness? the restlessness?
what year are you? course? thesis?
i see. what's your thesis about?
what species? and where are they from?
how do you examine them? and what are you looking for:
spawning temperature, fecundity, season?
is that it? so you chose to limit your topic.
and who's your adviser? is sir g still teaching?
what does he teach? i see.
it might also be irritable bowel syndrome:
psychological. you need to rest some more,
sleep better, maybe exercise. walk briskly
for thirty to forty five minutes each day, that's enough.
what's that singing in the background? the church?
makes me wanna message my friends
and sing karaoke...
and eat well. bananas, yogurt, anything you'd enjoy.
you'll be alright.

[just mercedes]

Baby milk with tuna bake


Simon’s gone to Syria,
a rite of return burns.
Simon’s gone.

To Syria! Summer light
sharpens the dark
Simon.

Gone, returned,
summer light burns
before Simon.

[Todd]

Division of Labor: A Metaphor for Marriage


I promise only to clean
the top of the plates,
and I will expect you
to understand why
there are wet circles
on the shelf-paper.
I will drive our son to soccer,
but leave the keys
on the nightstand, so that you
can pick him up.
I will listen to complaints
about my commitment
to equality, about a lack
of spark. So, I will fail
to clean out the dryer lint
and wait for you to notice.

[Knot]

That Day


I recognized you
from the knees down
as you were walking
away from the library,
and I couldn't say what
it was. The cartoon colour
or something else.
The smell of henna,
of Mum roll-on,
or just those red converse.

[dukealien]

A Love of Like


It’s possible to speak of love as metal—
soft gold, cast-iron, silver fine as lace—
or flower-colored, pink as rose’s petal,
carnation-white, blue as a dahlia’s face.

In metaphors a lover mustn’t settle
for fabric smooth as silk or satin’s grace;
love’s rough, and never hot as any kettle
that hangs and boils in someone’s chimney-place.

To make comparisons requires a shared
component-list, didactic and precise:
words chosen from a pool for relevance.
Let’s not rush past to hearts and bosoms bared,
emotional:  instead we’ll be concise
and weave a love of minds, our treasure-dance.

[vagabond]

Write a love poem without expressing any outpouring of emotion

you mean poems
that keep their love hidden
and do not splash
in the reader´s expecting face
like one of these sweet
and nauseating drinks.
something more humble,
poems, so dry
they just crumble to dust
in the wind, finding a way
deep into lungs.
you don´t even know why
they are wetting the eyes.

[Leanne]

Tea

Every morning he sits at the table
with a pot of tea, waiting. 
In his cup is milk and sugar. Her cup is empty
again.

He lifts the pot and pours his tea.
Milk swirls and the sugar stays as sludge 
in the bottom of his cup.  His spoon lies
on the saucer, untouched.

Without her, he has no reason
to stir.

[Tiger the Lion]

After Ales

I'll wake up bursting
to pee at 4am

sleepwalk 
to the john
and return to find Fido
asleep in a pose like rigor mortis. 

I have to pause 
at the end of the bed
to  be sure the bugger is breathing 
or I'll never rest.

He does the same for me.

[CRNDLSM]

Ultimatum

You havn't seen my show in three years.
You gave away our cat.
Now, you say the dog has to go.
Now, I won't eat your cooking anymore.
Good luck.

[kolemath]

The porch light

stays on all day
turns off at night
never could get the timer fixed

keys fumbling in slurred hands
scratching knob and door
growling, let me in

"you're drunk again."

wake up barefoot on the couch
with a pillow from the bed
rubbing eyes, shoes neatly
by the door
smell coffee on the stove

[Tracy Mitchell]

While gazing at a picture of Eleanor,
mother told me once never to forget 
each person is gifted a time to show 
outward beauty – as a pretty baby, 
a sparkly new adult, or as Miss 
Eleanor, blossoming in old age.

I think, on an early spring day 
when the sun starts to warm the land,
that it is the same with streams and creeks 
as well– gurgling, giggling down gullies, 
across cracks in the forest floor
to spook and bedazzle silly
whatever may be.

I won’t say that’s how I think of you.
I won’t say it out loud.

[Richard]

Motherly Love

A spider, dark as eyeshadow,
approaches an entangled fly.
Its fangs have remain sharp
after so much use,
legs still slender and delicate.

The web vibrates with death throes,
soon it will be winter.

A bundle of eggs hear their mother work,
while we pretend not to look down.

[alonso ramoran]

We had once shared beds
that you bloodied. There was no A/C
to keep you from scratching at your skin
as if it were a comforter that you tried 
peeling out of. Your lungs did not allow 
you to even be properly annoyed, you
just wheezed in pain and sleeplessness.

Let's trade blankets, little brother,
and go back to dreaming.

[Lizzie]

Meh

You’re a decent neighbor. I like your fence and your door.
The fact that they’re closed is a nice touch.
I dig it when you keep your kids inside,
especially the one that thinks she’s Elsa.
Your smile is pretty fake, a welcome excuse to knock
infrequently. I don’t hate your voice;
absence keeps the heart neutral. Your bushes aren’t dead yet,
but I know you’re trying. Maybe someday
I can help you out of your driveway
for a long trip to Costco–
don’t worry, I’ll give you space to unload.
Promise me we’ll stay this way forever:
transactional, practical, shallow.

---

@alexorande: powerfully written and heartbreaking.

[Keith]

New Orleans beat

No second line or two step jazz,
they came in the dark
a community of friends
from surrounding fields,
establishing their identity.

Sadness softened the forest floor
red earth, opened for the cold plain box.

Standing on pine needles, behind the trees
he watched her grieve her father.
The last to leave, he held her hand
until he saw the lights of the big house
running in her eyes. Then he had to let go.