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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.
This year, there are no form requirements, only "tiers" or "rankings" given informally to all participants:
Bronze Tier: Participate at least once.
Silver Tier: Participate all days.
Gold Tier: Participate all days, and have all entries be the same form or have all entries be different forms.
Write a poem about justice.
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Flying Lessons
I.
The boy puzzles over it
like a new toy that’s broken.
He prods it with his slingshot
prying red feathers open.
II.
Clumsy fingers claw the dirt
scratching out a shallow hole.
He covers up the dark spot
with dead leaves and a large stone.
III.
Green shoots from under the stone
reaching up for morning light -
thin blades that flare and flutter
as if trying to take flight.
FORM: syllabic, rhyming
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Lovers of children
do not deserve
jail, prison or death.
They deserve to experience
the torture they afflict
in every wakeful breath.
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Joined: Nov 2015
Justice Is
You ask me, “What is justice?” little one.
And I will tell you: justice is a story.
You know the stories I tell you
at bedtime, little one. And the stories
that I read to you from books.
Each one of those stories has an end.
And at the end, you may say,
“Tell me another one!” but always,
you know it is complete, like a glass
of water that is full, clear,
needing nothing more to top it off
or that you have drunk down all the way
and there’s nothing more to say, little one.
Sometimes when a story’s over
you will frown, little one. That means
someone in the story did not get
what she deserved, or what he earned.
Those unfinished stories are not justice,
little one. Only when I make up
something more, and you are satisfied
have we reached justice. Only then
is the story truly finished and complete.
Very soon, little one, very, very soon
you will learn to read stories
on your own, and make them up as well.
Some stories will satisfy you
in themselves; others you won’t like
because they’re incomplete: someone
did not get what he deserved,
or what she earned for all her troubles.
And what you make up to solve
that unfinished story, little one,
that is justice. When you are older,
very, very much older, as old as I am,
you’ll sit on a jury, and hear stories
that disagree. Then you must decide
which story is true, and what is needed
to complete it properly. And that,
little one, is justice.
[Form: Prose poem]
 Non-practicing atheist
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(04-12-2025, 04:48 AM)dukealien Wrote: [Form: Prose poem]
well duke- ya only have about 20 more forms to fill out, but, hey, who's counting? The pressure is mounting... 
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04-12-2025, 04:02 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-12-2025, 10:09 PM by RiverNotch.)
Greed born from treating men like chattel birthed
the blindfold with which Justice in the West
is crowned, the wealthy wanted her to heed
only the laws they drafted, not to see
the torment they inflicted on their tired
and poor, the African and Refugee:
as with their every conquest, they desired
to tear from her Prudence and all her seed,
so when you masses yearning to breathe free
finally seize her sword, remember she
is just as much indentured. Only cleave
the sash about her temples, and she'll treat
your common captors as they forced her treat
you and your kin: sans Mercy, sans Reprieve.
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(04-12-2025, 05:45 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote: (04-12-2025, 04:48 AM)dukealien Wrote: [Form: Prose poem]
well duke- ya only have about 20 more forms to fill out, but, hey, who's counting? The pressure is mounting...
Just trying to keep a few easy ones in reserve while matching form to subject. For example, "justice" is a very complex matter, so many words were required to oversimplify it.
Non-practicing atheist
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The just man justices,
said Hopkins, afterwards,
grew sick of denial, the unrelenting words
of a wooden bloody god. Saying here,
I made both Seti and Cambyses
for the wandering Jew.
And then I suffered for you.
Now you must too.
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Joined: Dec 2017
(04-12-2025, 04:48 AM)dukealien Wrote: Justice Is
You ask me, “What is justice?” little one.
And I will tell you: justice is a story.
You know the stories I tell you
at bedtime, little one. And the stories
that I read to you from books.
Each one of those stories has an end.
And at the end, you may say,
“Tell me another one!” but always,
you know it is complete, like a glass
of water that is full, clear,
needing nothing more to top it off
or that you have drunk down all the way
and there’s nothing more to say, little one.
Sometimes when a story’s over
you will frown, little one. That means
someone in the story did not get
what she deserved, or what he earned.
Those unfinished stories are not justice,
little one. Only when I make up
something more, and you are satisfied
have we reached justice. Only then
is the story truly finished and complete.
Very soon, little one, very, very soon
you will learn to read stories
on your own, and make them up as well.
Some stories will satisfy you
in themselves; others you won’t like
because they’re incomplete: someone
did not get what he deserved,
or what she earned for all her troubles.
And what you make up to solve
that unfinished story, little one,
that is justice. When you are older,
very, very much older, as old as I am,
you’ll sit on a jury, and hear stories
that disagree. Then you must decide
which story is true, and what is needed
to complete it properly. And that,
little one, is justice.
[Form: Prose poem]
When you are older,
very, very much older, as old as I am,
you’ll sit on a jury, and hear stories
that disagree. Then you must decide
which story is true, and what is needed
to complete it properly. And that,
little one, is justice
Kiplingesque. One of the highlights of this year’s NaPM so far
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Righthanded Swordsman
we try to work together
sun and shadow on each scale
holy virgin It's your hymen
that designs our agon
It's the lodge that
must piece together a member
first father's penis is murderer
murderer's vagina the murdered
an aristophanian androgynia
marking the page with loud wonder
let this circus parade through centuries
the maiden places her head
between the jaws of the lion
a serpentine neck that petrifies
the pigeon into flight
a fight for credentials
who and what are you
to traumatize the eggs of
the Novel?
sandwiched in your own faint mysteries
each in our own cell
we are the absence of our religion
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