NaPM April 27 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 27: Write a poem inspired by a greeting card.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[ellajam]

Somehow You Found a Pebble of Joy

Leaping dogs dressed for a carousel
fly through the sky across a river
filled with fish and stones.
They soar above the birds,
a spiky sun starts the morning.

My guy's become your buddy;
he listens to you for hours
and agrees with you endlessly.
He rebuilt your house and does your odd jobs,
you buy him doughnuts for you to eat and laugh
at the way he sings while he works.

It may be the only thing you laugh at these days.

Still I'm surprised that you would choose
these beautiful flying dogs
to give him for his birthday.


Flying Dogs by Justine Hall

[Tiger the Lion]

With Sympathy

 
Please accept my cardboard condolence;
my paper compassion
in a pretty pink envelope,
my sentiment in sap.
 
I blacked-out the back
where the price was.
I didn’t want you to feel
like I’d spent too much.

[just mercedes]

Waiting for a call


Forefinger writing in air
on bathroom mirrors or
foggy windows
frozen windscreens
haiku drawn in wet sand
pen pulled over paper
surface or air
mail letter
note memorandum
post it sticker
postcard
package telegram
poem book magazine
newspaper billboard
graffiti road sign
skywriting
flowers
circular pamphlet
catalogue
telephone
cell phone
intercom speaker
beeper pager
wired WiFi
radio TV
VHS, UFH
Youtube channel
streaming
iPod bluetooth
home cinema
video DVD
email MSG
txt Skype blog
tweet twitter
Facebook games
or open your mouth
and speak -
there's a million ways
you don't talk to me

[RiverNotch]

Greetings from Sunset Boulevard

I've got
sixteen candles lighting up the line,
sixteen bright green candles
glowing sweetly like your eyes,
sixteen gifts -- sixteenth birthday,
sixteenth record from my grandpa the musician,
ever-playing that old Stratocaster,
with its sixteen strings of metal,
with his sixteen notes of rebellion,
and sixteen bars across his door --
sixteen candles lighting up the lines
of my cubicle in Christmas:
a final taste of what I leave behind
before all these papers fly away tomorrow
to LA.

I've got
long white lines of plastic
flowing from my ears to my phone,
drowning out the noise of the landing,
playing in this lonely cabin
Joni's songs of hard regret,
of liquor-love and California,
of rivers -- skaters on the freeway,
coyote heads and verdant eyes,
two young lovers listening live
to old Joni's best jive yet,
too young to understand how one
becomes a drifter, becomes a prisoner
of the long white lines of the freeway --
and I'm here, I'm finally here,
in LA.

I've got
an hole in my schedule, a pen in my hand
and a sixteen dollar laminated photo
bounded by four long white lines
of ink -- lovers in a bedroom,
sixteen long white lines of semen
all over your frustrated face:
sixteen bars across the door,
our last hurrah before this flight tonight,
before I ride a paper plane
for this damned Christmas job --
so here I am, filled with hard regret,
imprisoned on the long white lines
of Sunset, looking for our hero,
old Joni, with a pen in my hand,
and a sixteen dollar laminated photo
of LA.

[billy]

may 28th 2017

Her greeting card dropped through the box
to lay on the obvious gas and electric bills;
I tried to catch them mid fall and failed.
I remember my indecision on which one to open first.
The bills were laid to rest on the taffeta table cloth,
and the letter opener which had a silver strawberry atop
the handle, went to work.
I smelled crimson off the red lettering;
saw her love of calligraphy in the hand.
Will be home soon with Sean and the baby.

It was signed Dorothy and carried a Nepalese stamp.

[rayheinrich]

             


                                                   < princess >
                                             
                                             across the street
                                             an old man is building her a castle
                                             of concrete and cinderblock
                                             (and most anything else)
                                             
                                             the plastic mannequins in the windows
                                             gaze at fiberglass horses
                                             who graze on gravel pastures
                                             
                                             at night
                                             (when the Smiths and the Davidsons can't see her)
                                             she leaves things in his yard  
                                             and he adds them to her castle

                                             her dad's old fan
                                             is a windmill
                                             a broken mirror
                                             makes the walls spark with sun
                                             a rusted washtub
                                             is now a pond for plastic ducks
                                             
                                             across the street
                                             an old man is building her a castle
                                             
                                                         - - -

[Erthona]

Hallmark of Love

As fake and as false
as the polythene lining,
as eloquent as the verse.
Fast writ, cliché phrasing;
oft heard,
but never rehearsed.
But you my dear
drone, drone-drone,
while this card is mercifully terse.

Erthona

©2015

[Todd]

Because You Looked Pissed

I bought this card;
it was blank like my love.
I didn’t want to commit
to a date I couldn’t recall.
First kiss, first date, anniversary,
the slurry of our years together.
So, I copied some verse
from another card to be thoughtful.
It reminded me of someone
like you. It was as broad
as a medium cold reading,
or FBI profile. There’s a little bit
of everyone here, perhaps even you.

[milo]

Birthday Card for my Neighbor


I thought, perhaps, to send this card
just to let you know
that you forgot my birthday. It’s hard,
I thought, perhaps, to send a card
to "some odd stranger working in his yard",
I guess we’re not that close, although
I thought, perhaps, to send this card
just to let you know

[ellajam]

may 28th 2017

Her greeting card dropped through the box
to  lay on  the obvious gas and electric bills;
I tried to catch them mid fall and failed.
I remember my indecision on which one to open first.
The bills were laid to rest on the taffeta table cloth,
and the letter opener which had a silver strawberry atop
the handle, went to work.
I smelled crimson off the red lettering;
saw her love of calligraphy in the hand.
Will be home soon with Sean and the baby.

It was signed Dorothy and carried a Nepalese stamp.

I think of this one often, it really stuck with me.

Coming back to find this I read the whole page, again, what a bunch of gems. Thanks for all the great reading, guys.

[rayheinrich]

may 28th 2017

Her greeting card dropped through the box
to  lay on  the obvious gas and electric bills;
I tried to catch them mid fall and failed.
I remember my indecision on which one to open first.
The bills were laid to rest on the taffeta table cloth,
and the letter opener which had a silver strawberry atop
the handle, went to work.
I smelled crimson off the red lettering;
saw her love of calligraphy in the hand.
Will be home soon with Sean and the baby.

It was signed Dorothy and carried a Nepalese stamp.

I think of this one often, it really stuck with me.

Coming back to find this I read the whole page, again, what a bunch of gems. Thanks for all the great reading, guys.

    Your post got me to reading them all again as well.
    Damn bunch of wonderful these (we bathe in the presence of ourselves).

    But billy's, like you said, is the one I remember.

[ellajam]

Bathing in the presence of ourselves is also bathing in the presence of others, at least for me.
But good is good, I pick up a lot of slim books by modern poets I never heard of and give them a chance.  Rarely am I touched by the page, never with the frequency of these threads.

The lesser poems scattered throughout just make the ones that work so well stand out all the more, but even if just one each day stood out, and I don't think there was such a day, that would be thirty new poems I want to come back to over and over. What a rarity.

Someone should edit and publish, the collection is worthy of a broader audience, IMO.

[rayheinrich]

Someone should edit and publish, the collection is worthy of a broader audience, IMO.

But would a broader audience be worthy of us?
Who knows and who needs to know; we have all the audience we need right here.
(Looking gift horses in the mouth leaves you with slimy green fingers.*)


*Said as someone who has inserted too many horse bits, too many times.

[ellajam]

Someone should edit and publish, the collection is worthy of a broader audience, IMO.

But would a broader audience be worthy of us?
Who knows and who needs to know; we have all the audience we need right here.
(Looking gift horses in the mouth leaves you with slimy green fingers.*)


*Said as someone who has inserted too many horse bits, too many times.

meh, I don't publish so I know nothing of it, it was just my thought as a reader.

[rayheinrich]

meh, I don't publish so I know nothing of it, it was just my thought as a reader.

    Me neither --  too busy sticking my fingers into horse mouths.

[milo]

Someone should edit and publish, the collection is worthy of a broader audience, IMO.

But would a broader audience be worthy of us?
Who knows and who needs to know; we have all the audience we need right here.
(Looking gift horses in the mouth leaves you with slimy green fingers.*)


*Said as someone who has inserted too many horse bits, too many times.

meh, I don't publish so I know nothing of it, it was just my thought as a reader.

First, let me say that I agree with ella. I come back to these threads over and over just to read the poetry and it really is a treat.

We had, as a site once, discussed publishing a book of some of our poems. i had offered to do the editing. We had thought to offer any proceeds to maintain the site or maybe fund education - who cared. I will see if I can find the thread later but i think the idea was kaboshed.