NaPM April 12. 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 12: Write a poem about how you survived.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more


Questions?

[Knot]

Crash Landing


It was most uncomfortable.
I'd just got to the point
of pursing my lips, tongue wet
and all set for a goodbye kiss
When a voice, too loud,
too close to my ear,
said, this is just a drill
and I should put my ass away.

[Todd]

Curtain Call

Life is a dress rehearsal for death
with the audience shifting in their seats.
It is mostly improvisation and anyone
could be an actor unaware. This is the reason
accidents cause us to slow down. 
There is a certain hunger in waiting
for our cues. I nearly drowned four times
in preparation for my scene, I expect 
to meet a mermaid and forget
that I can’t breathe water. I think
I’m ready to book that cruise.

[dukealien]

The Tortoise Doesn’t Win on Speed


My evident survival, both
emotional and physical,
results from preparation and
acceptance with as good a grace
as practice can facilitate.

When losing jobs, to explicate,
past saving soothes a loss of face
before each geek or soldier band
who know it’s all political
by management they also loathe.

As for affection others clothe
in sentiments romantical,
eternal, plighting heart and hand,
I know my passions’ racing pace—
soon over, I pre-abdicate.

Does my survival implicate
a frigid heart, a carapace,
emotions sealed and coldly planned?
Perhaps they’re not inimical
to satisfying life and growth.

What would you call this - a patter song, perhaps?

[vagabond]

crazy seasons

i ran out of reasons
to fight.
walking november
for quite a few years,
directions lost sense.
the white out was tempting
with rest, i was ready

to stop but i stumbled
across your traces,
burning themselves in the snow
and soon
it was warm,
we were swimming.

you move me
to summer.
choices are hard again.
i am alive.

[CRNDLSM]

[quote="dukealien" pid='241082' dateline='1523569740']
The Tortoise Doesn’t Win on Speed


Can't copyright a rhyme scheme, this is very nice

[Richard]

Surviving Generation X

We didn't boom for babies,
we just had a knack for rebellion.
Our coloured hair scared the elderly,
our cynicism blamed on our age, not the age.
We gladly would have torn down
society, and raved on its remains.

Then we grew up,
realized pensions are a natural part
of life, googled silly cats, got fat,
and slept through the same dreams as our parents.
We were lucky to have survived
our own unrest, the world
a plump berry we were always
destined to digest.

[RiverNotch]

An Illusion of Power


Even the boy with a voice
that gives "voice" to the "voiceless"
by paying attention to the little details of their lives
and screaming, both loudly and softly,
"revolution!"

has not voice nor power nor even mind
enough to recognize that he has no voice
nor power nor even mind,
not until his victim, a squatter from another neighborhood,
shushes him with a stare

or until he finds that what he calls "survival"
is usually termed "growing up" or "getting a life"
and leaves few people scarred
across the throat.

[just mercedes]

Sisters in survival


Her face blears
from the sofa cushions as I leave

‘Can’t you wait while I go
up the road for another bottle?’

We both know she’s going nowhere
that involves ‘outside’.

Soon she’ll sleep. Tomorrow
she’ll block the voices again,

tonight she’s let them in. ‘He
was such a happy baby ...’

I close her door,
open my own.

[Richard]

Sisters in survival


Her face blears
from the sofa cushions as I leave

‘Can’t you wait while I go
up the road for another bottle?’

We both know she’s going nowhere
that involves ‘outside’.

Soon she’ll sleep. Tomorrow
she’ll block the voices again,

tonight she’s let them in. ‘He
was such a happy baby ...’

I close her door,
open my own.

Mercedes, I quite like this one. The second last stanza packs a huge emotional punch. Nice work

[Lizzie]

How to Survive

If you reach eighteen,
you’ll be a marvel of stealth
and strategy.

A wild, male horse will kill a foal
if its matchstick legs won’t stand after birth.
The herd must follow behind.

Don’t trot too close behind father horses.
A hoof to the skull,
and you’ll join that lame newborn.

Don’t wake fathers by slamming doors.
Mothers are small,
and brothers smaller still.

Collect dark spaces,
like laundry baskets with a lid—
kid-sized hiding places.

By the time you’re too big to conceal,
your legs will have grown strong
enough to kick.

[Leanne]

The Better Part of Valour

we are cells
from skin and down
to the dark places
that only blood can touch

and when other skins
burn against our own
the deep down walls
keep us safe

not whole,
but safe,
alive,
and quiet

[Keith]

Back on Nights

The chocolate hour is being trudged,
my last sugar boost thrashed
its legs, dangled from a noose.
The itchy eyes of 3am have left me
bloodshot and swollen.

The break room zombies talk in moans
afraid that the lights might be too bright
for the gaunt pale pallor of night shift skin,
we huddle in groups, grumpy in the dark.

Stranded sailors sick in their bunks,
groaning on windless seas, no rations left,
too weak to fetch water, barely able to see.

Such dark spells can only be broken if
the Captain kills the witch, with a flick of a switch.
"Come on you lot back to work,
this plant won't run itself you know".

My deprived mind wants to rip out his throat,
but I'm just not that kind of zombie, yet.