NaPM April 01 2016

[Tracy Mitchell]

solomente -
the upraised finger

I am one we are one
the earth is one

Terra firma leaches an infantry of ions
into my bare my feet, as if to keep
everything wired.  Oceans seeking

to gather back their skylarking droplets
check me out.  The earth is made for runoff-
a conspiracy of topography and gravity,
and I fear that I am next.

Gaian connivance is everywhere.

Yellows swirl at the edge of my world-
the sun destroys our right to see - life,
heat, blindness - these gifts are never
offered or accepted as such - I look,
I go blind.

Each morning by the kitchen’s open window
sarcastic grackles chant cantos to my name
while I fry up another batch of eggs.

[Todd]

It feels like anger, a chilling hate
that powers the breakers pounding the cliff.
Boulders of water churn, shoulder to waist
against the open caves, and white spray floats,
carried up past these wet skinned vines,
carried away from the darting, avant-garde fish.
Into the water a silhouette settles, sinks.
Important messages are misinterpreted; a god,
visiting from the peaks, loses interest
and dries himself with tissues instead.
Eventually all the universe grows cold
and freezes out anger, and freezes out gods.

The imagery and the mood blended really well in this, mercedes. I like how we move from heat to heat death. Enjoyed the read.

[Keith]

Waking disappointment on a child's face  

I shouldn't of come here,
not tonight,
too many mouths
that guzzle and gawp.
I want to sweep them with the buffet
into black plastic bags,
smash bottles into faces
slit several throats
with one coria graphed kata.

The rat has only just finished.
It wasn't content with three days
gnawing inside my muscles,
now it wants me to rot,
watch it run down my legs.

There's a resonance behind the bar
each liquid surface trembles.
I feel like a hunter breathing with the stag
as the optics rise and fall.
Then he's gone and I'm left with shredded
beer mats and soft drink labels,
enough confetti for a church wedding
or bedding for family of field mice.

The door opens and lets in
the outside.
I chromatograph the scent
of a thousand stale nights
wrapped in a cigarette smoke carrier,
trace elements I pick out and assemble
until I have that one drink
that isn't going to hurt anyone.

[milo]

solomente -
the upraised finger

I am one we are one
the earth is one

Terra firma leaches an infantry of ions
into my bare my feet, as if to keep
everything wired.  Oceans seeking

to gather back their skylarking droplets
check me out.  The earth is made for runoff-
a conspiracy of topography and gravity,
and I fear that I am next.

Gaian connivance is everywhere.

Yellows swirl at the edge of my world-
the sun destroys our right to see - life,
heat, blindness - these gifts are never
offered or accepted as such - I look,
I go blind.

Each morning by the kitchen’s open window
sarcastic grackles chant cantos to my name
while I fry up another batch of eggs.

Lots to love here, very strong writing

[Leanne]

Table for one

Somehow they all seem to take it amiss
if I grab a boob when I go for a kiss.
They call it fresh when I'm just being candid --
ask for back-door and I end up back-handed.
Nobody told me the rules I should follow --
how can I know if she'll spit or she'll swallow?
Counsellors tell me my parents' dysfunction
led to my absence of dating compunction.
Now I'm resigned to a wank in my car
and table for one at the Indian Star.

[just mercedes]

Good to see this here!

[RiverNotch]

It feels like anger, a chilling hate
that powers the breakers pounding the cliff.
Boulders of water churn, shoulder to waist
against the open caves, and white spray floats,
carried up past these wet skinned vines,
carried away from the darting, avant-garde fish.
Into the water a silhouette settles, sinks.
Important messages are misinterpreted; a god,
visiting from the peaks, loses interest
and dries himself with tissues instead.
Eventually all the universe grows cold
and freezes out anger, and freezes out gods.

The imagery and the mood blended really well in this, mercedes. I like how we move from heat to heat death. Enjoyed the read.

Echoing Todd here. I love how old the message is, yet how it never really goes said, and yeah, the great contrast between the heat of hate, the ignorance of gods, then the death of everything.

I also like milo's triolet, although I guess the form makes the ending a bit, er, weird. And one big lol for Leanne's

[cidermaid]

Some great poems already posted by all the usual suspects.


Listed.
I’m one day late,
(if it’s April the first),
for my annual year-end stock take.

Raw materials:-
Eight cartons of flip-tops,
a thousand pops per box.
Seventy thousand litres of wet stock.
One photo album – damaged.

Filter aids:-
Twelve sacks of pink powder
- three white.
Point five micron cartridge filters – six
Point eight – two used.
Two broken mobiles.
One new i-phone screen

Misc:-
Four times twenty-five kilo
bags of granulated sugar.
Thirty, twenty litre bags
Elderflower syrup – frozen.
Six fresh - boxed
Two pallets of finished product.
One wedding band - in need of re-sizing.

[milo]

Some great poems already posted by all the usual suspects.


Listed.
I’m one day late,
(if it’s April the first),
for my annual year-end stock take.

Raw materials:-
Eight cartons of flip-tops,
a thousand pops per box.
Seventy thousand litres of wet stock.
One photo album – damaged.

Filter aids:-
Twelve sacks of pink powder
- three white.
Point five micron cartridge filters – six
Point eight – two used.
Two broken mobiles.
One new i-phone screen

Misc:-
Four times twenty-five kilo
bags of granulated sugar.
Thirty, twenty litre bags
Elderflower syrup – frozen.
Six fresh - boxed
Two pallets of finished product.
One wedding band - in need of re-sizing.

Great to see you, AJ, I was afraid we'd missed you.

[Achebe]

Cavendish One, Cavendish Two

Old Cavendish, recluse, lives solo,
but has a burning love for polo.
To reconcile these two Cavendishes
his well wishers send him their best wishes
by postard, for on seeing their faces,
the old man's ventricular pumpset races.
There's nothing much medical science can do:
In Cavendish One, lives Cavendish Two.

[Keith]

All the poems hit a chord with me in this thread and what a great start this is, Todd's The details are unimportant is a stand out for me, as is french toast and coffee by Ella. But I did enjoy them all, Thanks to Milo for the undertaking.

[Todd]

solomente -
the upraised finger

I am one we are one
the earth is one

Terra firma leaches an infantry of ions
into my bare my feet, as if to keep
everything wired.  Oceans seeking

to gather back their skylarking droplets
check me out.  The earth is made for runoff-
a conspiracy of topography and gravity,
and I fear that I am next.

Gaian connivance is everywhere.

Yellows swirl at the edge of my world-
the sun destroys our right to see - life,
heat, blindness - these gifts are never
offered or accepted as such - I look,
I go blind.

Each morning by the kitchen’s open window
sarcastic grackles chant cantos to my name
while I fry up another batch of eggs.

I'm reading through these again now that I have more time. Loved the earth is made for runoff and the yellows strophe especially. There's a lot here I like Teagan.