April 14 NaPoMo 2021

[CRNDLSM]

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.

NaPM April 14, 2021

Topic: write a sonnet

Form: sonnet

Line Requirement: 14

[Mark A Becker]

For Giving

I felt the joy a springtime morning brings,
the day you sang your heart to me, alone.
You offered me a song that I still sing,
its melody, the dearest gift I own.

When nights were young- affection raw and bare-
hot pleasures blazed between our souls like fire.
We danced on glowing embers without care
and fanned the flames that sprang from pure desire. 

Last night, we peeled through books of photographs,
we had to smile at how we looked back then.
Between the pages, notes that made us laugh,
a message written sometime way back when-

that love is forgiving, makes life worth the living- still  true,
and sure enough, it has steadily carried us through.

[TranquillityBase]

Love, the undeclared stranger, is back
or lust with its deathless insect caresses,
a lingering game where all squares are black
the playing pieces our disguised embraces.

We wander there, alone in our every night
waiting for the other to unclothe our crime.
We have no license for the next step into light
where touch and soul fall out of time.

The lie of love is a hangman’s knot
the surfeit of lust is just out of reach
we study ourselves and wait for the blind spot
where civil hearts are just a figure of speech.  

The art of love is a special beast
and if, or without, we shall be released.

[CRNDLSM]

Gravity in space and underwater
Balance with the blood between my brains
Having fun the way all water drains
While the feet grow cold, the heart gets hotter.
When the phone she holds harbors a squatter,
Laughing for a history, a stain
Calling to another though my veins
Wavering to hear me say I shot her.

Certainly emotions have their say and
Reason doesn't need to be controlling
All the time, but if you never question
Your mentality, everything may end.
Just ignore your thoughts and keep on scrolling.
Jealousy should never seek concession.

[Leaf]

Mick's walking started in the spring last year:
   he'd read online that exercise is good
in these strange times, might just relieve the fear
   and if you can get out a bit, you should;
so every day, at 8 and noon and 5,
   he'd don his coat, or not, and go outdoors
to tread the bumpy tarmac of his drive,
   alone but for his thoughts on plagues and wars;
once lockdown measures eased, he thought he'd try
   to catch the bus, just as he used to do,
the number 10, and suddenly quite spry
   he headed out, his thinking now, Woo-hoo!
At last, he would enjoy the old bus ride;
his feet, however, brought him back inside.

[Keith]

Teeth

I had both arms inside your hanging cage
you didn't even offer me a stool,
did the lumps of meat you shook taste strange
was I the only tamer that you fooled.

You'll always be the first to taste the kill
our cubs may fight but know the scent of blood.
I'll wait to eat so you can take your fill
then lick them clean so that they know they're loved.

With mud soaked pride I offer you a fall,
and watch the flight of reason as it runs.
I take my stand yet you still make me crawl
the April floods have only just begun.

The water hole is poisoned with my stink
so I relax and watch you take the drink.

[Majestic Sun]

The Old Man's Boot

Living the life in an old man’s boot.
The smell is inviting it makes me stay.
Inside where the old man makes a hoot.
Like an owl in the coldest of the night.

So, like him, I fit snugly in his shoes.
When the night comes, all is so right.
Then with a thud, I come crashing down.
I look around for what makes a man chirp.

Like a birdie in the forest around.
I am the old man’s leg oh so waxed and full.
Like a cold glass of milk to a child at all.
Then when I think and think and mull.

About what makes a leg so oh so naked.
The old man sits in the toilet constipated.

[dukealien]

Pine, I Do


Have goodness like a constant evergreen
my love, unchanging, fresh in mountain air
as other arbors fluctuate between
spring buds, green leaves, fall crimson, branches bare.

Look not, oh love, on others with that care
and fear of separation which I feel
in times we live apart and cannot share
a touch, a glance, a kiss to plot and steal.

Does jealousy confirm our love is real
or only that we fail to trust our mates--
a true love’s sovereign mark and final seal
or that mere lust persists as love abates?

May our affection grow straight, strong, and tall
rejecting change and bitter, jealous gall.