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For some reason, 11 April was also the most replied-to date for 2018, though I find its prompt to be kinda edgy. By todd and Danny, and also requested by TqB:
Quote: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 11: Write a poem inspired by edges (of any kind).
Form: any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more
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Joined: Jun 2015
Still Here
Looking over the edge
into my old age
ain't much of a stretch
out here on that ledge.
As I turn the page
into the next chapter
I'm just trying to live
with a little more laughter,
staying focused on here
instead of hereafter.
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Joined: Aug 2016
I am so afraid of heights
I'm getting queasy
Thinking about peeking
Over the edge
Not the hills or the bridge
High rise or ladder
Even movie scenes send me
Over the edge
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
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Edgeville
Over the edge
to Timbuctoo
under the edge
just to please you
on the edge
hara-kiri inside out
off the edge
to a mournful shout
taking the edge off
is what it’s all about.
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Dividing
Edge of paper,
point of pen–
folded paper forms an edge,
folded stanzas form a poem.
Every poem possesses
points, beginning, end;
each paper contains no poem
until it does.
Sentences without edges,
lines without inflection points
is mere prose;
prose with rhythm,
edges, grace,
is poetry.
Non-practicing atheist
Posts: 489
Threads: 182
Joined: Jan 2013
On cliff edge
overlooking the fall
colours in dying bloom,
about to plunge into frost
and cold iron grey.
On cliff edge
moving my mouse back and forth
to ensure my status is online
pretending to work from home,
listening to the radio debate
the depths of the coming recession.
On cliff edge
in line at the liquor store
avoiding the lane with the cashier
who rung me up yesterday.
On cliff edge
at the end of the bottle
climbing in to bed
knowing I will not dream.
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Preparing a Holiday Meal
I'd had half a bottle of Shiraz
before anyone arrived.
Now I'm tearing up
chopping the fucking onions
and remembering aunt June
once telling me
that a dull knife
is much more dangerous
than a sharp one.
Not if you're being chased
by an 80's horror flick psycho,
I used to think.
I won't go into detail
about my gored thumb,
or auntie June's strange gloating,
but everyone raved about dinner
and when Jaded June let a fart slip at the table,
all the masks came off.
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Joined: Nov 2013
Those who have the luxury
to claim they live on the edge
are still within the confines
of bourgeois fantasy:
try climbing down a cesspit
still in operation
without any equipment,
with your arms and legs
full of sores and bites,
to try and clean it out,
to buy something to eat
after an empty week.
At that point, some would claim
they were not even living.
