NaPM April 07, 2017

[Todd]

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 07: Write a poem that starts at the end and ends at the beginning.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[rayheinrich]

End:
                       


                 
                  "Walking Lesson" by Jacek Yerka


Middle:
                                         


                 
                  "Four Seasons" by Jacek Yerka


Beginning:
                                   

[Keith]

Character Inversion

So I unfold my shield of chaos
and swirl with leaves
where eddies end,
cage each storm in a made up story,
pestle my dreams in a mortar of friends.

A clever chameleon
only walks on black and white
his tongue takes the snow flake,
hides all day, awake all night
roads are meant for crossing.

Nerves that strobe through conversations
tin foil rubbed on metal filled teeth,
beneath the smile a whirlpool waits
to swallow each day,
the management of traits.

By the time I realised
the puddle wasn't deep enough,
I was already diving
A coiled serpent
displaced inside a ripple,
only going out to come back in
shedding my skins,
expressions I plucked
to face northern winds.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Aqueous Prism

And you are my floater.  
My first dog Blackie floats
and that body in the river floats.  
Long gone now, both my mother, father
float.  What I look through to see the world.
Whether I am aware or not,  I see the floaters
No matter where my attention, where I look
I find no aqueous humor in any of this.
The doc said each may dissolve
or dissipate with time.

Suspended in the intraocular fluid
dislodged from the inner lining of the eye.
A floater is a piece of membrane.

[Todd]

(A bit of a cheat before I go on vacation. As I was writing something I kept hitting on themes I'd written about in a poem a few years back. I decided to rearrange the strophes and do some edits. I'll come back later and try something new when I return).

When It Ended

 
In the indistinct gray light,
no particular bird was singing.
 
Our kiss
was like a postmark
on a letter from people 
we no longer knew.

I felt the itch
of your lips.

You spoke of that place
you’d read about,
something about mangos,
some island somewhere,
which you might like to visit,
 
and then root canals and laundry, 
groceries and endless 
soccer games.

We drank a tasteless Shiraz
in that trendy café on Union,
chewing words like stale bread.

[CRNDLSM]

'Tell me, which was it, the chicken or the egg?'

As I finish off the keg
philosophical questions
only get stupid answers.
Intelligence enhancers
increase vomit projection.
My brain or leg starts kickin',
am I an egg or chicken?

[Donald Q.]

Forward

People assist each other in returning
buildings to a state of disrepair
until the tornado twirls by, placing tiles
on naked roofs and stacking bricks with care
into hallways. Street patrols moonwalk past
windows where prostitutes press themselves
to the glass. Urban renewal teams ensure
the removal of toilets and other basic
fittings. Residents forget recipes,
erase menus. Places of worship close.
People return to foreign countries.
A train station opens. Books and water
are removed from the library and bath houses.
A train station is closed. Terraces fall,
Crops spring back for a while, then shrink into
seeds in dirt, behind a reversing plough.

[dukealien]

The Healing


Descent, rejoicing into Hell:
healing wooden stake
well-stropped green wood
pierced unbeating heart
just after sun’s true dawn
forced cold quiescence.
Wood, true death of trees
old Aaron’s rod to contrary
surcease of wicked immortality
which lightly could endure
lead, steel or bronze.
Thus ending were-life
long ago conferred
by thirsty passion’s
half-accepted, sharp
love-counterfeiting
tainted kiss.

[Lizzie]

Trichotillomania

I have a daughter who wore
her mutilations openly
on Sunday mornings.
How is a mother to cover this up?

She'd sit in the rocking chair for hours, slowly erasing herself,
eyes empty, looking at nothing. At least
we weren't fighting. At least
she was focused on something –
the girl wouldn't apply herself or finish simple tasks.
That's not how I was raised, for sure!

Her eyelashes were the last to go –
they were the most painful; her eyes would water
or maybe she'd cry, but what did she expect?
Her thickening mascara helped her grip
and slowly tease them out. If I were her,

I'd rip them out quickly like a band-aid,
but she'd take her time.
If only she paid attention to what I say
the way she paid attention to her disgusting habits.

The eyebrows – oh the eyebrows! Half gone, half there.
It's like she was trying to look ugly.

A bald spot the size of a silver dollar
appeared in one evening on the crown of her head.
A headband couldn't cover it, and she never wore hats.
Why would she do this to us?
How was I going to explain this?
I gave her a comb-over that is working for now, but
I'm praying the wind is kind to us
till this whole issue of hers has blown over.

I don't know when it started. Tweens you know,
they'll do anything to make your life miserable.
Thank God no one else knows.

[just mercedes]

Henrietta


The end’s like knotting off a cotton thread;
a length is finished, still the spool remains.
I live on through my children, though I’m dead.
My daughters have my lips, I smile again.
Through each maternal ancestor a chain,
our line unbroken since the first live birth.
Our DNA, as memory, prevails.
I never thought to travel round this earth.

From Africa, where life began, we spread
as servants, slaves, our treatment inhumane
with hunger, floggings, hanging overhead.
White masters took their pleasure in our pain
and bred our daughters.Kings of their domain
they knew exactly what our lives were worth.
They farmed us, sold our children. Some were slain.
I never thought to travel round this earth.

Then slaves were freed, to own their own farmsteads
and generations worked without complaint
to own a patch of land, put up a shed
and grow a crop to sell, somehow maintain
a full-time job as well. Our pride shines plain
in children reading, learning, giving birth.
The Good Book teaches ‘Give, and you shall gain.’
I never thought to travel round this earth.

My cancer didn’t die with me. Mundane
as my life’s been, I somehow earned rebirth,
my stolen cells immortal now, arcane.
I never thought to travel round this earth.

[Franklin'sMan]

Regenesis

Throbbing, throbbing, the sky was gone and dark prevailed.
The All was bare. Just radiated stone.
Then Providence! God’s unwinding spring had failed!
Back again the flesh was brought to bone
as time contracted ‘gainst the end he willed.
Rushing in from outer void -- a moan
both low and high. Terror. Even Nothing thrilled.
Glowing matter hurled to the place
from which it flew. Cold soil vapour spilled
to earth, and water cooled down near it’s face.
The flailing lash of Ra’d retracted back
and brought again the halo out of space.
The Halo, nebula of all that lived,
compressed; a trillion sparks were born in black,
burst and burnt away the haze, brought day
trees, grass and breeze; Duat, loud roaring, pushed back!
The firmament was blue again. Clouds took up their way.
And in the kitchen, ‘round our table, we pray.

[nibbed]

Power Lock

They are always reliable
half the reason
is because they are yellow,
magical force
must be why they slurp back
into their safe silver case,
fast and sleek.

I always take care
not to rest my hand on the edge
whenever I push the release button;
a student in gym class
lost her thumb
(they sewed it back on),
kinda being teacher's pet,
helping mark
the newly waxed floor
for long jumps.

I thought I'd be clever once,
make an impression:
pulled it all the way, twenty-five feet
or more?
I heard the spring give way,
that doyang thang it does,
then quiet, dead;

It wouldn't retract,
why should I be surprised?
Yeah, he was watching.

Clumsy wishes
cannot give trapped springs
back their power.
I tossed it in a can;

I should have saved it
for a growth chart,
or some other craft,

like all the others
I have never pinned.

[RiverNotch]

scripture

lamp oil comes out smooth --
passing the tube, it gets to the blood
and heals all ailments: blindness,
bad shit, you name it! even sinuses clogged
with mental matter. tastes fucking better,
too, than all the guiltless: the heartburn's the something special
keeping the bitter smell, the pungent taste, the smooth
fresh in memory. only a meager forty!

[kolemath]

I NEVER KNEW WHAT I WAS AFTER UNTIL AFTER

Then after after passed,
was after last exhale,
was after broken pelvis,
was after fell down stairs,
was after when I woke,
was after fell asleep with you,
was after come inside,
was after fell in love with you
--Did I reverse the two?--
was after found you in the sun,
was after sleeping days,
was after stay up all night writing lies and needs,
was after hating poetry,
was after learn to read,
was after learn to speak,
was after take a step,
was after take a breath.

P.s. this prompt threw me for a loop, Todd. Thx!

[Lizzie]

When It Ended