NaPM April 28, 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 28: Write a poem inspired by a crime.

Form : any

Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[rayheinrich]

       
        Lucifer   -   Gustave Doré


                                                  < heart of fortune >
                                               
                                                where fear comes from
                                                what it's based on...
                                               
                                                seeds
                                               
                                                you wash your face
                                                you get them in your eyes
                                               
                                                they sprout
                                               
                                                and grow their way into your brain
                                               
                                                and steal it
                                                circumvent it
                                                for a purpose
                                                unbeknownst to them...
                                               
                                               
                                                an idle flip of coin

       

[just mercedes]

Penelope Vade from Haslemere


while he’s away with work
she waits

a package comes
from Belfast
the smell tells her
what her eyes refuse to see
when she pulls back
the cotton-wool blanket

seven men decapitated
her army husband
and mailed her his head

when she goes to Belfast
working with the Woman’s
Peace Movement

the same seven men
come and rape her

she crawls bleeding
across floors to swallow
a bottle of aspirin
from an ordinary
kitchen cupboard

dead four days when found

she wakes me at night
with her questions

Did I die for love? Was I
a coward? Whose is the crime?

[kolemath]

Farmer

So I found a seed one day,
put it in the ground,
watered it,
cleared the weeds around it
so plenty of sunlight would help it grow,
took care of it with the tomatoes,
plucked the bugs away with the squash.

Before harvest,
the cops came.
I thought maybe they wanted a salad.

Now I'm eating from a plastic tray
in an orange jumper
on a steel bench,
concrete floor,

no fresh vegetables.

[Keith]

@ Kolemath, nice one, I agree this is a crime,

[CRNDLSM]

The bomb exploded two feet
above the pond.  One second
later would have meant my arm.
People in the neighborhood
heard the sound and formed a swarm
with no idea it was me.
At least I learned my lesson:
just because I could, didn't mean I should.

[Todd]

Gypsy Rose, Childhood by Proxy

They are almost like nurses
as they consider the ailments
of their child.

Sleep apnea becomes 
muscular dystrophy becomes
feeding tube,
and eye surgeries,
and lost hair,
and crumbling teeth,

and still they both smile
at how lucky they are 
to have each other.

Until one day, 
“That bitch is dead.”
and it’s a miracle as if Christ had spoken.

The girl stands 
from her wheelchair 
and walks.

They are almost like nurses
helping their child
remain sick.

[nibbed]

Dualism

Urban artists
boast gifts,
free exhibits,
at every level crossing.
Galleries,
compliments
of your friendly neighborhood
train car owners
& railway men.

[Tracy Mitchell]

Short Story

This highway parallels the railroad tracks,
always parallel in this part of the country.
He drives west as the sun comes up,
the only one on the road. Fields puddle
with standing water from recent rains,
as the ditches become navigable.
But for the red winged black birds,
he should make the border unseen by noon.

Authorities long considered him harmless
for the fact he never carried a gun.
Authorities considered him harmless
despite sightings in the trees at the edge
of the marsh. Funny how fast things change.
How fast blood pressure can spike, then
bottom out, like a pond below the rapids.

[burrealist]

Mulder and Scully have their hands full
with another inexplicable mastermind's 
tedious infraction on the natural world.

Somehow, some way, this inhuman being managed to burn 
down an entire warehouse while still inside,
then walk away unscathed. Somehow, the fire ceased in an instant.

They witnessed it extinguish itself as a shadow
lashed at Scully from the lingering dust. Of course,
it vanished in the dark, leaving the two agents alone again.

With whatever they were allotted,
they retrieved some dismembered limbs as evidence.
Those, and some bags of ashes.

Scully now stands a dark room, one lit lamp
framing her enigmatic figure focused on a small desk.
Mulder emerges from the dark, studying her intensely.

He thinks Scully hasn't noticed
fingerprinting smudged across her face, 
the dusty leftovers from her attacker earlier.

He reaches his hand to the back of her jaw.
She braces, breath paused,
and his solemn thumb gently crosses over her fine cheek. 

It's silent, except for the faint buzz coming from the sole light source.
"Mulder," she says. "You're tampering with evidence."
Something like a smile enlightens him

and he pulls his hand away.
Around the curve of her shoulder, he gawks
at what looks to be a severed, blackened hand.

"One unlucky bastard. Let me get you a wet towel,"
he mumbles- nearly whispers- in Scully's ear.
Notorious for her silence, Scully concedes to his pitch.

As Mulder walks away, the hand she's studying
begins to crumble. An instant cloud engulfs her face,
intrudes her lungs, and burns her rolling eyes. 

She calls, while coughing, "I'll need more than one!"
In spite of it all, she's happy Mulder is there.
She waits for him, even if he takes a long while to return.

[just mercedes]

Bonnie


After you’d killed
you’d come to me,
urgent, insatiable,
as if death
plugged you directly
into some dark life force.

I didn’t understand
at first, until
I controlled life
in my own hand
and fired. Then
the red lust descended.

[Donald Q.]

In The Act

The terminology is 'petty crook'
but I am not so petty as to
not at least acknowledge
the prowess of the police force who found
my partner and I swimming in bank notes.
 
My friend clapped in handcuffs, which is to say,
he clapped very quietly
because his wrists were so close together.
The whole effect was rather polite;
the detective inspector took a bow
before throwing us into the back of the van.
 
We shivered to the station in bracelets
and speedos, the queen still nestled in my
gluteal cleft, half smiling, stoically.

[dukealien]

Just and Neither


The crime of champerty and maintenance consists
of disinterested parties promoting
lawsuits, purchasing shares
in their proceeds.

Broadly speaking, every lawyer who advertises -
the plaintiff bar who practice law
for agreed contingent fees -
commits this crime.

Fomenting lawsuits with cool malice and on spec
devastates innocents, even malefactors
more than they can deserve
and flouts the law.

Cruel and unusual punishments are forbidden but
hot tar and feathers for those caught
committing champerty and maintenance
would be just and neither.

[Lizzie]

You're never going to get better are we?


Our future is blackstrap–
a belt,
the sole of a boot,
cold as
a hundred stones.
It's mouth has been sewn
shut.
Explosions are it's only heat.
Nothing remains but anger
and fear
and they will whip us toward brimstone
murderously.

[Franklin'sMan]

Global Strategic Reserve

It wasn’t easy
moving all that maple
syrup. Six million
pounds of pancake lover’s staple
transmuted to water
re-barreled and gone.
Who’d ever steal condiments?
I guess that they’re wrong:
they did need cameras, guards.
Management fucked up
to think that 30 million bucks
needn’t be locked up.
People love breakfast
so who’d not steal syrup
to sell to the masses?

[Keith]

The punishment never fits HMV

Store detectives blend unseen
behind the yellow of a shell oil
tee shirt and faded jeans.

Jimmy shoved two albums
under his Wrangler jacket.
The corners stuck out like
odd shaped nipples.

We waited under the shopping centre
as the police van arrived,
he looked so small in the hands
of dark giants. I thought they might've
eaten him but the only called for his brother
and let him off with a warning.

Four years later he started dealing,
mostly blow but he soon swapped store
detectives for drugs squad.

I asked him once what albums
he had took that day. Rain dances
by Camel and Tomato by Yes.
He deserved everything he got.

[RiverNotch]

The Nightmall Dream

When the nightmall strikes and you run from crimes
you don't remember, you don't look back
until you reach the parking lot. The guards, half on foot,
half on segways, track like hounds. They don't have guns
so the porters play along: the way to your car
is covered in detergent slicks, candy spills, boxes to jump over.
It's as if the merchandise doesn't matter, as if justice
against a little thief or madman or pervert
is worth more than the consumer --
and that thought is what wakes you up,
not the bang on your head as your car hits a tree.