NaPM April 4 2015

[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 4: Lovely ella would love to read a poem about the signs of aging.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[just mercedes]

At the reunion



A slow unraveling begins.
Half-remembered faces
like ghosts, drowned in fat
or trapped behind cobwebs of wrinkles.

My French teacher taught me
what a victim is, how power rots,
that innocence is no excuse for anything.
I'd looked forward to meeting her again.

She’d married my art teacher
in the meantime. Neither of them
reaches my shoulders; she hunches
and scurries, more insect than bird.

Do they still write, paint? No,
they’re busy redecorating their home.
We’re doing one room at a time
and making them perfect.

I ask how long they’ve lived there.
They reply fortytwo years.
Silently I forgive her.
She’s had punishment enough.

[Todd]

Love the ending on that one especially, Mercedes.

[Todd]

It’s When You Notice
 
that she’s staring
because you look 
like her father.
You can’t say how old she is.
It’s like going to sleep,
and waking to a world
where everyone is young
except you.

[just mercedes]

It’s When You Notice

 
that she’s staring
because you look 
like her father.
You can’t say how old she is.
It’s like you went to sleep
and woke to a world
where everyone was young
except you.

The Rip Van Winkle syndrome. Frightening. My dentist looks like a school kid.

[milo]

It’s When You Notice
 
that she’s staring
because you look 
like her father.
You can’t say how old she is.
It’s like going to sleep,
and waking to a world
where everyone is young
except you.

very cool, Todd

[rayheinrich]

                         < old gardens >
                       
                        old gardens with flowers
                        filled with flowers
                        in old gardens
                        the flowers
                        are the ones that come back
                        and old gardens tend
                        to be tended by hands
                        made older by the sun
                        made brown like the leaves
                        the leaves in old gardens
                        old gardens which tend
                        to be tended
                        by old hands
                         
                                - - -

[just mercedes]

I like the way your poem starts with a broad view, and focuses down from garden to flowers to hands. Nice contrast between new life and old.

[billy]

April 4th; nappy of the month

For the Signs they are a Agein'

I fear my prostate gland will fail, and fallen arches fall
as younger men's endeavours push my bones against the wall.
My skin's elasticity has stretched away through years
and hangs upon my frame like the lobes upon my ears.
Hair grows from every orifice, apart from eyes and mouth,
the ballsack's gotten saggy and the pecker's pointing south.
my lights are dim, my head is bald, my gut is twice its size
from eating lots of sweetend food and munching on meat pies
I wouldn't swap a single day, or years for strength or youth.
having lots of grand-kids made me too long in the tooth.

[Tiger the Lion]

Blood Moon

This morning
He nods

it wakens me
 
I do not age
traditionally
 
He will shave
all this distracting grey
once
He is risen
 
It's been too long
since
I was a clean-cut boy

[Keith]

Yes it's true

The artist has fingered
charcoal lines on my face
and my body speaks
each movement.

I seem to be
a 45 played at 33
but its all expected
even accepted.

Come closer
I have a secret to tell,
the fountain of youth
sits on my knee
it fills from a bottle
whilst I drink.

[Tiger the Lion]

Yes it's true

The artist has fingered
charcoal lines on my face
and my body speaks
each movement.

I seem to be
a 45 played at 33 I'm so jealous of this line!
but its all expected
even accepted.

Come closer
I have a secret to tell,
the fountain of youth
sits on my knee
it fills from a bottle
whilst I drink.

Thanks Keith.

[cidermaid]

Just got time to free write a few thoughts, compared to what has already been offered a very poor effort - but something down on paper so still feely pretty chuffed.  
 Some great offerings above, really enjoyed reading them. 

Being old is a consensual thing.
An invitation only event, to a private party;
a fuse site, buried deep within the mind.
The unopened envelope
will keep the creep out of age.

Spotty doctor’s cautionary notes of
“at your age, it is to be expected”
will not usher in one moment of change.
Old enters through the eyes,
eats away at upturned lips.
                                                                                                                                                   
A body is just there for a given convention
and a certain amount of decoration.
Over used, abused, a body has no sway
on the desire to dance, delight or play.
Only after the eyes have forgotten
how to smile, will the touch taper be lit.
                                                                                                               
The signs of aging are dependant
on how damp the powder is.
A bang and a big brash display,
or just quietly fizzle away.

[billy]

nice aj, and everyone else. at this rate i might get one or two in the other threads. come on newbs you can post here as well

[ellajam]

History Be Damned (For Tom)

You will not whittle away at what is mine,
that is my job.
What was soft and wet, covered
with fine moss that caught each morning's dew
has bared its own gnarly form, its grain
raised and smoothed, raised, smoothed.

You can drop like flies, I am used to still standing.
As sweet milk metaphorizes into a memorable
gorgonzola, I have taken you in; now my adornment,
you run in blue streaks, swirl in patterns I've stolen
without regret or intention of returning.
You may no longer be you, but you are me.

[rayheinrich]

April 4th; nappy of the month

For the Signs they are a Agein'

I fear my prostate gland will fail, and fallen arches fall
as younger men's endeavours push my bones against the wall.
My skin's elasticity has stretched away through years
and hangs upon my frame like the lobes upon my ears.
Hair grows from every orifice, apart from eyes and mouth,
the ballsack's gotten saggy and the pecker's pointing south.
my lights are dim, my head is bald, my gut is twice its size
from eating lots of sweetend food and munching on meat pies
I wouldn't swap a single day, or years for strength or youth.
having lots of grand-kids made me too long in the tooth.

Especially these lines:
"My skin's elasticity has stretched away through years
and hangs upon my frame like the lobes upon my ears.
Hair grows from every orifice, apart from eyes and mouth,
the ballsack's gotten saggy and the pecker's pointing south*."


So many other wonderful poems, but most SO serious.
billy's world's a far, far better place to be.



So where does it point in Australia? North?  I don't know about ewe, but I got my suspicions.

[Erthona]

Olded

Youth returns not at the ticking of the clock:
nor Passion its ship again brings to dock.
Unnoticed has Lust gently faded away,
just as did spring, summer has not stayed,
nor shall He return, upon another day!

My memory has fled, so too my
prowess in bed, and the hair on my head.
My eyes have a film, my muscles sag
and my bones are now a little…too brittle.
I don't mind so much the thought of dying.
My years have been flying like the "digit
counter fall" on some too easy pinball…
machine, but did they have to take away
all these things I took for granted?  
But yes, I see the point.
If things were as they were in my youth
I would never want to leave and it's obvious
that there are too many of us here now.

Erthona


©2015

[jasmine.m.wardiya]

Cracked, wrinkled, sucked in
like a sack stretched then loosened then stretched
and now covering a mass of bones and flesh
that only takes up half the space -

And yet it still bleeds. Too dry, too thirsty;
the water doesn't fill
the other half,

It just leaks out from cracks
from a once solid wall.

[milo]

Older

A day can slip by quicker than you planned
and everything grows one day older.
The wind can kiss your face or kiss the land -
a day can slip by. Quicker than you planned
time can turn the mountains into sand
and even passing stars grow colder.
A day can slip by quicker than you planned
and everything grows one day older.

[billy]

nice triolet milo
should it be [slips] in the penultimate refrain? i like that it doesn't feel forced.