NaPM April 15 2016

[Leanne]

I'm still really unhappy about the voiceless/breathless link, but there's plenty of time to edit once April's over. Thanks folks

[Achebe]

I am not a poet

I am not a poet
because you see, I cannot write of sublime things
such as dead children going up to see god on angels' wings
in a well metered, well meaning sonnet - 
and when I do, tectak pisses on it.

I am not a poet
because you see, it takes balls to write a poem
and if no one reads it, one must proceed to publicly show 'em - 
the time I did, a copper got a bee up her bonnet
and asked me if I'd like her baton's kisses on it. 

I am not a poet
I am not a poet
I am not a poet
and neither are you.

[bedeep]

  This reminded me of something I wrote a while ago, so I went and found it and put it here: http://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-18679.html

I am not a poet

I am not a poet
because you see, I cannot write of sublime things
such as dead children going up to see god on angels' wings
in a well metered, well meaning sonnet - 
and when I do, tectak pisses on it.

I am not a poet
because you see, it takes balls to write a poem
and if no one reads it, one must proceed to publicly show 'em - 
the time I did, a copper got a bee up her bonnet
and asked me if I'd like her baton's kisses on it. 

I am not a poet
I am not a poet
I am not a poet
and neither are you.

[Achebe]

Does it end, really

sunrise
morning dew
sunset
and
sometimes
you

inspire

roses
creeping vines
poses
sometimes
wines

inspire

midnight moons
sand dunes
walks in the park
and sometimes
noon

inspire

afternoon
beers
best wishes
sometimes
tears

inspire me to write poetry.

Nice one Luna

[RiverNotch]

THE READING

She drew six cards and formed the cross --
I found it all arranged.
I sent them back and went the course,
but fate had me detained.

And there it was: the death of me
and all He left behind,
the woman by the waters still
determining the line,

the devil's curse returning lots,
the tower falling down,
the comet blazing through the sky,
and howling come around.

But horror struck me not because
of such a brilliant fall,
it was that I'd no agency
even in standing tall.

For since the Endor-Witch declared,
I acted without choice,
at first the hero so accursed
then afterwards her voice.

[ellajam]

Lovely day of reads, thanks all for posting them.

Ssshhh, Don't Yak The Kayak

The paddle's first dip slices the surface
then rises, bringing with it the first drip
that winds its way down my arm, cool,
soft amid the rays sparking back the heat
that falls between still budding branches.
Avalanches of fruits' first petals part
before my slow-moving bow, a stroke
then pause; my body knows its pace,
the time to scoop the water to my face.

[Keith]

Sanctified syncopated Sundays

Sunlight laser cuts the blackout blinds
and the chimney breast nest
alarm clocks me without a snooze button,
breakfast worms are tap danced
across gray roof slates
and devoured in a crescendo
of wake up calls.

My damaged head reminds me
how much wine I took to bed,
still unsure on legs that thud
each step.
The bathroom slaps me cold tiled
in my feeling old, can't handle it face.
Piss proud I lean cheek first
to taste the spearmint
of the toothpaste splattered mirror.

There's a boy I used to glimpse,
with punk cut, black dyed hair
and morning stubble,
sitting thin in a mohair jumper and joggers,
his voice was cigarettes
through nicotine stained fingers
that pointed out the freedom of self belief
and dole queue days.
The boy disappeared into long hours
and the arrhythmia of insecurity.

The kettle rumbles and clicks,
spills hot as I yawn into decafe,
still dressed in bed sheets.
I slide back the conservatory door
and bathe in a burst of warmth
that races across the differential.
The faded favourite chair
has been harvesting heat,
enough to feed my aches for a while.

I ignore the hay fevered garden
but still it shouts "look at me"
as it gets busy going to work.
The dog finishes off my cereal bowl
then curls like a cat on my lap.
I thank God for her bad breath
and making Sunday
a day for sitting in my underpants and vest.

[Keith]

I'm still really unhappy about the voiceless/breathless link, but there's plenty of time to edit once April's over. Thanks folks

I hope you do, this deserves another look and I bet you forgot about it. or maybe you didn't and I missed the edit.

[just mercedes]

#15  I’m sorry


I never thought you’d be offended
by my quick words, but after all
a clock, once wound, is bound to chime
the hours, counting down the time
between the fight, and fences mended.
Sometimes you win; that’s when I fall
but one of us is always up
and offers help. A loving cup
to steep the wine of friendship in
shines pure gold, though made of tin.

I don't even remember writing this. Cliche-ridden, strange rhyme pattern ... that's what NaPoMo does to me.

[ellajam]

Oh, again. enjoyed the page, thanks pig pen.

It's ok, Merc, even though they can't all meet the bar we might set for ourselves, I enjoy reading what people wouldn't normally post. I even enjoyed my own, but my bar is low.  

Nice bump, keith.

Just read page 1, I don't know how many books I have to read to come up with that many I enjoy. Some fine work here, worthy of some spit and polish, all of you.

[Leanne]

Totally forgot about this... so maybe I will edit now... who knows?

[Lizzie]

Could I Write Of Finer Things:

I'd like to leave the paper white
with ne'er a word abroad.
Instead it seems I'm writing shite
I guess it strikes a cord.
The poetry I often pen
is full of poo or farts;
were I to write a sonnet then--
Thinks "man of many parts"

To be, to do, a big fat poo!
To ponder on the porcelain;
while traipsing iambs two by two
across the paper while in pain.
To squeeze, to clench, to let it out.
A piece to make you lift your nose
and with a taught eureka shout,
you lock and load a sphincter's hose
and raise a little to explode.
The bathroom shakes, a rumble's heard
the butt-cheeks spread to shed a load.
There it is; a creeping turd.
A splash! it hits the water hard,
lets hear it for the shit-house Baird.

This is one for the ages, Billy!