NaPM April 17 2014

[milo]

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 17: write a poem inspired by something you regret.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[Erthona]

I didn’t realize until nearly too late
that he did like my company,
not to talk—as he was not
a talker—but simply to have me near,
to keep him company as he rocked in his chair.
Later, when mother died
I again missed my opportunity
to keep him company,
and to be there with him before he died.
I was too busy being self-important
and running my own business—which
would shortly go bust—but it was that time
in my life where I had yet to realize
what was really important.
Today it still haunts me
in my dreams, I dream of him.
He never comes in any mean
or scary way…he just comes to keep me company.

[Brownlie]

Regret is like a subtle burr
that often nettles me
it opens seraph wounds that thrive
and heal but leave debris

My gathered trinkets wrought of earth
And ware sit all alone in store
As dried and plastered tossed pots
I glazed amidst a storm

What fruitless bacchic frenzy must
Have seized my mattered soul
That never flew except in thoughts
But tested heavens bold.

Who would have thought the light would burn?
And sear my morning eyes
That saw with sight unveiled the past
Beheld in haunting sight.

[ChristopherSea]

Murder

The suspect
had been spotted
around the neighborhood
in the past coming for others,
but it was our season now.
Nights were busy
dilating, growing icicles
as perfect murder weapons.

Death came to our home
on stilts and peered
through our frosted bedroom
window and saw: that kisses
leave tiny bruises which amass
until the kissing stops;
that we went to bed
in mute silence, slept dreamless;
that we were not conscious
of how to love without killing
ourselves in the process. Death offered
autonomy, a nascent leaf,
an algal bloom
of possibilities.

Foul play
was eventually uncovered
in late morning when authorities
dragged the pond
behind the house and discovered
the missing bodies

of our hollow wedding vows.

[cidermaid]

If revenge is best served cold,
then regret will be tepid.
Like chunks of chunder it will burn
in your mouth and nostrils.
It is the voice of words on a loop,
regurgitated actions and phrases inserted
in place of what was left unsaid.

Triggered by
the finger, the punch, the slap-up-side the head,
from all those pricks who then say “I’ve no regrets”
whilst making an L sign on their face.
Of course, all this is true, but then
only nice people are condemned like this.

The worst regrets are quickened and birthed
in the minutiae of how we have failed;
ourselves, our loved ones, our family and friends.
When there is only us left in the conversation
and the blame lies in a heap at our feet,
we rush to make our exchange, buy a dove
or two at the guilt sellers table.

Call it a crisis of confidence,
a midlife thing if you want,
but right now I have produced
a huge pile of puke, that I am surveying.
The main parade has long since gone past
and I am left up a tree.

I wonder – when Zacharias was adding it all up,
what number he got to,
before he got the call, that he had a visitor for tea?

[ellajam]

My judgement was piss-poor again,
I thought we had a common goal
both working towards a future when
in fact you played your finest role.
Contentment was unknown to you,
your preference was to stay numb
from pain, so bliss was stifled too...
I wonder why I was so dumb,
my faith in you was my mistake.
Still moments shine, sleek midnight sails,
our laughter sang across the lake
and saw us through life's dark travails.
It's done, expel regret and guilt
as joy revives the nest we built.

(iF the goal here is to see how many bad poems you can write in 30 days, I think I'm a winner.)

---

Murder

The suspect
had been spotted
around the neighborhood
coming for others in the past,
but it was our season now.
Nights were busy
dilating, growing icicles
as perfect murder weapons.

Death came to our home
on stilts and peered
through our frosted bedroom
window and saw: that kisses
leave tiny bruises which amass
until the kissing stops;
that we went to bed
in mute silence, slept dreamless;
that we were not conscious
of how to love without killing
ourselves in the process. Death offered
autonomy, a nascent leaf,
an algal bloom
of possibilities.

Foul play
was eventually uncovered
in late morning when authorities
dragged the pond
behind the house and discovered
the missing bodies

of our hollow wedding vows.

You've turned something so common into something so interesting. Well done.

[ChristopherSea]

---

Murder

The suspect
had been spotted
around the neighborhood
coming for others in the past,
but it was our season now.
Nights were busy
dilating, growing icicles
as perfect murder weapons.

Death came to our home
on stilts and peered
through our frosted bedroom
window and saw: that kisses
leave tiny bruises which amass
until the kissing stops;
that we went to bed
in mute silence, slept dreamless;
that we were not conscious
of how to love without killing
ourselves in the process. Death offered
autonomy, a nascent leaf,
an algal bloom
of possibilities.

Foul play
was eventually uncovered
in late morning when authorities
dragged the pond
behind the house and discovered
the missing bodies

of our hollow wedding vows.

You've turned something so common into something so interesting. Well done.


Thank you Ella. Although, I was the one to initiate the divorce, I still have to recognize it as a failure and regret how the separation transpired. I was naive enough to think that we could be friends afterward. She made it impossible. Luckily, I met my current wife on a poetry site and we are living happily ever after.

[cidermaid]

---

Murder

The suspect
had been spotted
around the neighborhood
coming for others in the past,
but it was our season now.
Nights were busy
dilating, growing icicles
as perfect murder weapons.

Death came to our home
on stilts and peered
through our frosted bedroom
window and saw: that kisses
leave tiny bruises which amass
until the kissing stops;
that we went to bed
in mute silence, slept dreamless;
that we were not conscious
of how to love without killing
ourselves in the process. Death offered
autonomy, a nascent leaf,
an algal bloom
of possibilities.

Foul play
was eventually uncovered
in late morning when authorities
dragged the pond
behind the house and discovered
the missing bodies

of our hollow wedding vows.

You've turned something so common into something so interesting. Well done.


Thank you Ella. Although, I was the one to initiate the divorce, I still have to recognize it as a failure and regret how the separation transpired. I was naive enough to think that we could be friends afterward. She made it impossible. Luckily, I met my current wife on a poetry site and we are living happily ever after.

I agree with Ella, i have had a few reads through now and I loved how you personified the coldness between you and that there was anmother form of coldness in the detatchment of the how the experiance was reviewed that nicly echoed the images. As Ella said it made a common read into something intresting.

[ChristopherSea]

---

Murder

The suspect
had been spotted
around the neighborhood
coming for others in the past,
but it was our season now.
Nights were busy
dilating, growing icicles
as perfect murder weapons.

Death came to our home
on stilts and peered
through our frosted bedroom
window and saw: that kisses
leave tiny bruises which amass
until the kissing stops;
that we went to bed
in mute silence, slept dreamless;
that we were not conscious
of how to love without killing
ourselves in the process. Death offered
autonomy, a nascent leaf,
an algal bloom
of possibilities.

Foul play
was eventually uncovered
in late morning when authorities
dragged the pond
behind the house and discovered
the missing bodies

of our hollow wedding vows.

You've turned something so common into something so interesting. Well done.


Thank you Ella. Although, I was the one to initiate the divorce, I still have to recognize it as a failure and regret how the separation transpired. I was naive enough to think that we could be friends afterward. She made it impossible. Luckily, I met my current wife on a poetry site and we are living happily ever after.

I agree with Ella, i have had a few reads through now and I loved how you personified the coldness between you and that there was another form of coldness in the detatchment of the how the experience was reviewed that nicely echoed the images. As Ella said it made a common read into something interesting.

I appreciated the comments and kind words AJ. Poetry that hits close to home is more likely to be our most effective.

[Mopkins]

I shouldn’t have given
him the poetry
that I wrote about him
it just wasn’t right.
His big fat girlfriend
took to it badly
and at me she yelled;
that started the fight.
I was dejected
as well as rejected
but told her to get fucked
on the lawn that night.
She didn’t like it,
she got more excited,
she bloodied my lip
and then I looked a sight.

[Keith]

Makes Jack a dull boy

A Blackbird taps for worms in the evening heat,
the garden colours fold quiet as a monastery,
shadows slowly take the grass a darker green,
the wrought iron seat sits empty without its queen,
wine glasses ask questions of bottles on the rack,
welcomes home gets missed as does our kitchen kiss.

Discussions sink to ipad apps and facebook screens,
frustration bumps like flies on mirrored panes,
moments that fall lost on quiet window sills.
I'm trapped importing images for a work-place play.

The dark has filled the drive to a house that's closed its eyes,
doors are not allowed to wake, softly held by guilty hands,
a touching paw and smiling tail soon returns to cornered curls.
I search by fridge light for dried up food that fits the mood,
a ghost inside a half full room that slides between cold sheets.

[cidermaid]

Makes Jack a dull boy

A Blackbird taps for worms in the evening heat,
the garden colours fold quiet as a monastery,
shadows slowly take the grass to a darker green,
the wrought iron seat with its tied on cushion sits empty,
no red tint to wine glass or glug of poured pots of tea,
welcome home hugs and kitchen kisses are missed.

Silence saps exchanges of the day, bottled and preserved,
without decay they build frustration buzzing above the lavender,
waiting for moments that drift away, I finish the last slide
to the latest in a long line of urgently needed presentations.
It’s dark by the time I get home and the house is ready for bed
the dog does her best to say hello but she just wants to play.

Keith just wanted to say how much i enjoyed this one, in particular the first stanza and the gentle aspect of the regrets. You really hooked me in with the second line - peachy

[Keith]

Makes Jack a dull boy

Keith just wanted to say how much i enjoyed this one, in particular the first stanza and the gentle aspect of the regrets. You really hooked me in with the second line - peachy

Many thanks AJ this has to be by far my biggest regret, I'm off sick today so just catching up on some missed days over the easter hols. you are writting some great stuff and we are on the home straight how much fun is this

[fim]

Wrestling with Regret
fim 4/26/14

A sullenness stealthily consumed the muse
that responded to Milo's poetic prompts.
Into the maelstrom masked by the topic
my whimsical inspiration was dumped,

swallowed by the requirement of day 17
to ply unpleasantness beyond the dam,
contemplate that which you have tried to forget
to articulate a regret as best one can.

Dusty, dark and disturbing memories
something precious lost and never regained,
debilitating emotions that eviscerate one’s being
that only time had been able to contain

now unleashed to again ravage one’s psyche
to punish though the debt more than paid
ahh, yes, the choice morsel, a repulsive regret
on which the foundation can be laid

to craft a poem that would command interest
fascination even, though sordidly macabre
yes, artistically delve into depravity
describe the solution to the problem I solved.

The Contents of the Trashcan Beside the Sink
fim 4/27/14

In the bottom of the trashcan beside the sink
was a quarter-sized chunk of flesh.
I only glanced at it for a moment
the bathroom was quite a mess.

Bright blood drenched my right arm,
before trickling from each finger to the floor
I had to focus on abating its release
dizziness warned me I couldn’t lose much more

and still maintain the consciousness I needed
to ensure I didn’t bleed out
apply alcohol to prevent an infection
and do it quietly, without a shout.

I learned something that I hadn’t considered
before using a razor to cut out the tattoo
I never considered flesh would shrivel to one side
after cutting it in the shape of a U

I had to stretch my skin taut by holding it in my teeth
so I could make the final rectangular slice
immediately followed by the horizontal cut
that let me remove the mark from my life.

The discarded chunk of me in the puddle of blood
in the otherwise empty trash can
bore the inked-initials of the beguiling temptress
I wore as a boy … but not as a man.

[ellajam]

Two really good ones, the second sure to stay with me. Well done.

Wrestling with Regret
fim 4/26/14

A sullenness stealthily consumed the muse
that responded to Milo's poetic prompts.
Into the maelstrom masked by the topic
my whimsical inspiration was dumped,

swallowed by the requirement of day 17
to ply unpleasantness beyond the dam,
contemplate that which you have tried to forget
to articulate a regret as best one can.

Dusty, dark and disturbing memories
something precious lost and never regained,
debilitating emotions that eviscerate one’s being
that only time had been able to contain

now unleashed to again ravage one’s psyche
to punish though the debt more than paid
ahh, yes, the choice morsel, a repulsive regret
on which the foundation can be laid

to craft a poem that would command interest
fascination even, though sordidly macabre
yes, artistically delve into depravity
describe the solution to the problem I solved.

The Contents of the Trashcan Beside the Sink
fim 4/27/14

In the bottom of the trashcan beside the sink
was a quarter-sized chunk of flesh.
I only glanced at it for a moment
the bathroom was quite a mess.

Bright blood drenched my right arm,
before trickling from each finger to the floor
I had to focus on abating its release
dizziness warned me I couldn’t lose much more

and still maintain the consciousness I needed
to ensure I didn’t bleed out
apply alcohol to prevent an infection
and do it quietly, without a shout.

I learned something that I hadn’t considered
before using a razor to cut out the tattoo
I never considered flesh would shrivel to one side
after cutting it in the shape of a U

I had to stretch my skin taut by holding it in my teeth
so I could make the final rectangular slice
immediately followed by the horizontal cut
that let me remove the mark from my life.

The discarded chunk of me in the puddle of blood
in the otherwise empty trash can
bore the inked-initials of the beguiling temptress
I wore as a boy … but not as a man.

[ChristopherSea]

Two really good ones, the second sure to stay with me. Well done.

Wrestling with Regret
fim 4/26/14

A sullenness stealthily consumed the muse
that responded to Milo's poetic prompts.
Into the maelstrom masked by the topic
my whimsical inspiration was dumped,

swallowed by the requirement of day 17
to ply unpleasantness beyond the dam,
contemplate that which you have tried to forget
to articulate a regret as best one can.

Dusty, dark and disturbing memories
something precious lost and never regained,
debilitating emotions that eviscerate one’s being
that only time had been able to contain

now unleashed to again ravage one’s psyche
to punish though the debt more than paid
ahh, yes, the choice morsel, a repulsive regret
on which the foundation can be laid

to craft a poem that would command interest
fascination even, though sordidly macabre
yes, artistically delve into depravity
describe the solution to the problem I solved.

The Contents of the Trashcan Beside the Sink
fim 4/27/14

In the bottom of the trashcan beside the sink
was a quarter-sized chunk of flesh.
I only glanced at it for a moment
the bathroom was quite a mess.

Bright blood drenched my right arm,
before trickling from each finger to the floor
I had to focus on abating its release
dizziness warned me I couldn’t lose much more

and still maintain the consciousness I needed
to ensure I didn’t bleed out
apply alcohol to prevent an infection
and do it quietly, without a shout.

I learned something that I hadn’t considered
before using a razor to cut out the tattoo
I never considered flesh would shrivel to one side
after cutting it in the shape of a U

I had to stretch my skin taut by holding it in my teeth
so I could make the final rectangular slice
immediately followed by the horizontal cut
that let me remove the mark from my life.

The discarded chunk of me in the puddle of blood
in the otherwise empty trash can
bore the inked-initials of the beguiling temptress
I wore as a boy … but not as a man.

Agreed, Nice to see you back and jumping right into these.

[fim]

Two really good ones, the second sure to stay with me. Well done.

Thanks ellajam. I was trying to make them one poem, like a poem about a poem. Have to figure out how to do that better. Thank you.

Wrestling with Regret
fim 4/26/14

A sullenness stealthily consumed the muse
that responded to Milo's poetic prompts.
Into the maelstrom masked by the topic
my whimsical inspiration was dumped,

swallowed by the requirement of day 17
to ply unpleasantness beyond the dam,
contemplate that which you have tried to forget
to articulate a regret as best one can.

Dusty, dark and disturbing memories
something precious lost and never regained,
debilitating emotions that eviscerate one’s being
that only time had been able to contain

now unleashed to again ravage one’s psyche
to punish though the debt more than paid
ahh, yes, the choice morsel, a repulsive regret
on which the foundation can be laid

to craft a poem that would command interest
fascination even, though sordidly macabre
yes, artistically delve into depravity
describe the solution to the problem I solved.

The Contents of the Trashcan Beside the Sink
fim 4/27/14

In the bottom of the trashcan beside the sink
was a quarter-sized chunk of flesh.
I only glanced at it for a moment
the bathroom was quite a mess.

Bright blood drenched my right arm,
before trickling from each finger to the floor
I had to focus on abating its release
dizziness warned me I couldn’t lose much more

and still maintain the consciousness I needed
to ensure I didn’t bleed out
apply alcohol to prevent an infection
and do it quietly, without a shout.

I learned something that I hadn’t considered
before using a razor to cut out the tattoo
I never considered flesh would shrivel to one side
after cutting it in the shape of a U

I had to stretch my skin taut by holding it in my teeth
so I could make the final rectangular slice
immediately followed by the horizontal cut
that let me remove the mark from my life.

The discarded chunk of me in the puddle of blood
in the otherwise empty trash can
bore the inked-initials of the beguiling temptress
I wore as a boy … but not as a man.

[ellajam]

fim, the 2nd title midway through made it look like two distinctly different poems to me, even though the first was obviously a prelude to the second. They might work as one, maybe you'll decide to workshop it.

[jacobfionn]

Like a half smile
or a cigarette in the week
I loved you discreetly
so I thought away
my reasoning
so to speak

We met so quickly and there it was
the lightness of the feet
I spent a fortune on wistfulness
and then it was complete

those words you spun
made your mark
like a rainbows soft deceit
I left my heart at the door
for that easy bitter-sweet

You were so much better than me
I thought you smiled in your sleep
brooding i've forgotten how
even you dear weep

[ChristopherSea]

Like a half smile
or a cigarette in the week
I loved you discreetly
so I thought away
my reasoning
so to speak

We met so quickly and there it was
the lightness of the feet
I spent a fortune on wistfulness
and then it was complete

those words you spun
made your mark
like a rainbows soft deceit
I left my heart at the door
for that easy bitter-sweet

You were so much better than me
I thought you smiled in your sleep
brooding i've forgotten how
even you dear weep

Greetings Jacob, it's nice to see a new face jumping right in. Welcome to the site and National Poetry Month. Cheers/Chris