NaPM April 21 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 21: Write a poem inspired by a complete stranger.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[just mercedes]

A stranger in the woods


Thoughtless, a child in meadows wild
(Mild is the sun, and dark the glade.)
strays from the path, enrapt, beguiled,
she bares her throat, no thought of blade.

Fearing no harm from stranger’s arm,
seduced by his smile, the wiles displayed,
seeking no more than friendship’s charm
she bares her throat. He bears a blade.

He picks black flowers for her crown,
drowning her light in deepening shade,
plays with her long hair, lets it down.
He bares her throat, presents the blade.

The new moon rises, its veil arrayed.
Her throat is bare but for the blade.

[rayheinrich]

                                < a poem inspired by a complete stranger >
                               
                                at night
                                (of course)
                                walking behind someone who is a complete stranger
                                (a complete stranger as per the PigPen NaPM 2015-4-21 specification)
                                i feel a certain tension
                                a fear which is expected when
                                someone walks behind you on a dark street
                                (who happens to be a complete stranger too as this
                                 is a universal symmetry required of complete strangers)
                                a fear
                                a certain tension to be relieved
                                "I don't intend to harm you", I say,
                                "there is no need to be afraid."
                               
                                                    - - -

[bena]

                                < a poem inspired by a complete stranger >
                               
                                at night
                                (of course)
                                walking behind someone who is a complete stranger
                                (a complete stranger as per the PigPen NaPM 2015-4-21 specification)
                                i feel a certain tension
                                a fear which is expected when
                                someone walks behind you on a dark street
                                (who happens to be a complete stranger too as this
                                 is a universal symmetry required of complete strangers)
                                a fear
                                a certain tension to be relieved
                                "I don't intend to harm you", I say,
                                "there is no need to be afraid."
                               
                                                    - - -

owww ray you make my sides hurt.  you must be inserting it right.

---

Meniscus


The moon hangs in the daylight hours,
a sliver of last night's memory.

I sit on the bank of the creek,
atop a large limestone rock.
Pen and notebook in hand
I await divine inspiration,
the blank pages accusing me.

The tranquility is palpable,
almost to the point of suffocation.

I stare at a water strider 
gracefully dancing across the surface.
The limbs of a fallen tree arch from the brook
as if to save itself.
Its twigs are craggy and arthritic in its reach.

A small world-worn man approaches
bent, but whistling.

His fingers are as knobby as the branches.
He holds a basketful of eggs for market in one hand
and a walking stick clutched in the other.

As he passes,
he laughs with a toothless grin
at the fool by the creek
wasting valuable life.

[Todd]

Hitchhikers

The lesson is passed
from mother to daughter,
and so the cycle repeats.
You must stay on the road,
and not stop, or speak
to anyone, until you arrive home.
For strangers wait to rape you,
to kill you, to eat you like bread.
My mother had no daughters,
and could not pass on
what she did not believe.
Each stranger was an opportunity,
and an unmet friend.
So she picked up young men
on the dark forest road
that led to her mother’s house.
Destinations were shared,
if not names. I would only know them
by the way their eyes burned
huge in the rear view mirror, like smoke
rising from a fire. As we drove
the forest would encroach
on the pale morning, and cup
its hands leaning in close
as if to tell a secret
to these men. My mother would look
at the shine of their teeth
and mistake it for a smile.

[milo]

A Perfect Stranger


First we have a simple scalpel.
It’s not that delicate,
the longer the better
as we have little fear of damage.
 
Next, there are the rib cutters –
more akin to pruning shears
than to a surgeon’s tool.
There is a set of spreaders
on the shelf, for display.
 
Use the high speed setting 
to drill the marrow from the bone.
We don’t want splinters in the sample.
 
That one there is called the bread knife.
It can filet the heart
or any other organ.
 
Here is the hammer with a hook
and a skull chisel
together they will open her head.
 
Finally, take the hagedorn
and sew her up with heavy cord
to hold the meat together.

[Erthona]

Merchandise

I walked into my favorite coffee shop.
She was in front of me, ordering.
She turned around and met my gaze,
at first, disinterest, then hunger.
I know because I felt the same.
She also seemed vaguely familiar,
but I could not recall.
We sat at the same booth.
At first she stroked my arm,
then she stroked my head.
I may have been dumb,
but at this point I needed no more
cues to know what her intentions where.
Then it hit me; she had been a client
at a place I used to work
only a few years before.
There was a rule: "Do not socialize
with any of the clients until they have ceased
to be clients for five years.
I was so pulled into her already,
I could not stop.
I remembering saying, "Fuck the rules!"
I was wrong, the rules were right.
I should have never have fondled the merchandise.  

Erthona

©2015

[cidermaid]

Out fox hunting, for the first time at the age of nine;
Amy, my pony went wild.
In the first field there was a clump of trees,
a bog and a small wooden gate.
In our haste we made a mistake;
got stuck in the bog, the wrong side of the gate.

I spied a chum from my pony club ride.
He saw my glum compromise,
but simply galloped on,
him and the rest of the throng.
Amy now lost her mind, plunging at the fence, spinning
in a muddy ferment of flailing feet.
I thought I was going to die.

My saviour was an elderly lady
following on at a steady jog trot.
Seeing my grey and tearstained face, she stopped;
helped me to navigate the gate.
I never knew her name or saw her again.
My mount took off; despite her late entry to the race,
covered in foam, she won by three lengths.
I assume my saviour, resumed her nice stately pace.

[ellajam]

Oil and Water Finally Mix

There's no way I'd ever run into you,
our paths wouldn't cross, each had their  own crew.
With nothing in common that either could see,
you were a perfect stranger to me.

Our internet meet was fortuitous
but that first nervous dinner was torturous;
I admitted it, what absurdity!
You laughed, you were even stranger than me.

Now we sand rough edges, indulge our quirks,
we're not sure why but somehow it works.
When we first met I couldn't foresee
you'd be the perfect stranger for me.


( I hear hallmark calling my name.)

[Tiger the Lion]

She Dances with Strangers  (for Loretta, Re: Blanche)

She dances with strangers; a midnight waltz
under dim and flattering moons
that throw no light upon her faults.
She dances with strangers a midnight waltz;
a sliding and gliding that only halts
if one should half-step out of tune.
She dances with strangers a midnight waltz
under dim and flattering moons. 

[Keith]

Steam Trains

In a wet pavement world
conveyed in beige
I like to watch and wait,
sip railway coffee,
eat my lunch from tin-foil
among the oil and fumes
the drone of daily muse.

For all the rolling stock Sulzers
and countless Big Diesels,
every now and again
a steam train,
bright red or green
polished brass, loud and brash,
spitting coal, clouds of ash.

For that moment
when their track runs to my door
I can only climb aboard
pick up the shovel,
see if the furnace holds.
Of course there is a danger
that these engines burn out,
explode, twist metal grind rocks
but they are spectacular
I have to watch,
I have to ask,
find out their story,
ride the footplate for a while
until the next station
muffled by the crowds of coats.

[milo]

                                < a poem inspired by a complete stranger >
                               
                                at night
                                (of course)
                                walking behind someone who is a complete stranger
                                (a complete stranger as per the PigPen NaPM 2015-4-21 specification)
                                i feel a certain tension
                                a fear which is expected when
                                someone walks behind you on a dark street
                                (who happens to be a complete stranger too as this
                                 is a universal symmetry required of complete strangers)
                                a fear
                                a certain tension to be relieved
                                "I don't intend to harm you", I say,
                                "there is no need to be afraid."
                               
                                                    - - -

I think if you were creeping around behind me at night and you said this I would scream and run!

[rayheinrich]

I think if you were creeping around behind me at night and you said this I would scream and run!

One to the heart, two to the head.