2025 NaPM 17 April

[RiverNotch]

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.


This year, there are no form requirements, only "tiers" or "rankings" given informally to all participants:

Bronze Tier: Participate at least once.

Silver Tier: Participate all days.

Gold Tier: Participate all days, and have all entries be the same form or have all entries be different forms.


Duke's the only one who voiced a desire for a specific prompt, and here it is, modified according to the assumption that all attempts at poetry are attempts at capturing beauty: write a poem involving an ugly subject.

[Mark A Becker]

Crucified

First he was flogged with a nine-tailed whip
that tore into flesh, ripped skin and muscle, as blood
sprayed across the public square for all to see.

A vertical beam awaited as he struggled through
the dark, narrow street with the horizontal piece. Rusty
nails drove into his wrists while he writhed on the ground.

His cross was lifted as vultures circled above. His leg
muscles tired, and his body hung limp. His shoulders
popped out of their sockets; his twisted wrists dislocated.

He drifted near death until an iron mallet crunched
against his thighs, breaking both legs. Birds plucked out
his eyes. Soldiers jeered as he shit blood, naked and exposed,

Night would fall before he died.

Thousands met this fate under ancient Roman rule

[RiverNotch]

I would note, the New Testament is explicit about Jesus expiring before the customary breaking of the legs, as one of the prophecies from the Old Testament -- I think it's from the Psalms, but it may also be from the Pentateuch, as it's those books with all the rules on sacrifice -- notes that not a bone of his was to be broken.

---

When the fall of an empire is seen

as a greater ill than the disenfrachisement,

displacement, and later disintegration

of much greater than six million---

in '33 were Hirschfield's archives burned

as Dachau camp was built,

in '38 was Czechoslovakia raped

as Kristallnacht was perpetrated---

then, perhaps, it's not the case

as it is its cold-hearted recipient

which should distress, what kind of man,

what kind of poet, would think that to end

such horror as ended Radnóti or Frank

should somehow be contingent?

[Mark A Becker]

I would note, the New Testament is explicit about Jesus expiring before...a bone of his was to be broken

Yes, notch, I am well aware of that from bible study I have done. My poem speaks to the 'art' of crucifixion. This is why I added a 'spoiler'. The Romans were very good at enforcing order, and provided public examples to do so. 'Roman candles' were a particularly gruesome way of 'illuminating' streets with impaled human torches.

Jesus was one of many thousands to suffer extreme punishment.

Thanks for weighing in,
Mark

[busker]

Crucified

First he was flogged with a nine-tailed whip
that tore into flesh, ripped skin and muscle, as blood
sprayed across the public square for all to see.

A vertical beam awaited as he struggled through
the dark, narrow street with the horizontal piece. Rusty
nails drove into his wrists while he writhed on the ground.

His cross was lifted as vultures circled above. His leg
muscles tired, and his body hung limp. His shoulders
popped out of their sockets; his twisted wrists dislocated.

He drifted near death until an iron mallet crunched
against his thighs, breaking both legs. Birds plucked out
his eyes. Soldiers jeered as he shit blood, naked and exposed,

Night would fall before he died.

Thousands met this fate under ancient Roman rule

Thousands. Including women and children.

---

I would note, the New Testament is explicit about Jesus expiring before the customary breaking of the legs, as one of the prophecies from the Old Testament -- I think it's from the Psalms, but it may also be from the Pentateuch, as it's those books with all the rules on sacrifice -- notes that not a bone of his was to be broken.

---

When the fall of an empire is seen

as a greater ill than the disenfrachisement,

displacement, and later disintegration

of much greater than six million---

in '33 were Hirschfield's archives burned

as Dachau camp was built,

in '38 was Czechoslovakia raped

as Kristallnacht was perpetrated---

then, perhaps, it's not the case

as it is its cold-hearted recipient

which should distress, what kind of man,

what kind of poet, would think that to end

such horror as ended Radnóti or Frank

should somehow be contingent?

Speaking not to the poem but the topic: the final solution didn’t start before ww2. In fact, Hitler’s threat was that if war started, that would be the end of European Jewry. He made that explicit. The annexation of Czechoslovakia was less bad than the colonisation of Asia and Africa by the European powers, so it can be argued that avoiding WW2 by sacrificing Poland and the USSR (inevitably) would have been better than what transpired, but a better argument would be that Germany should have been divided up and completely de industrialised and Germany settled by swarthy males from the colonies to affect demographic change after WW1 and prevent the emergence of a Hitler. Funny that the hack writers of alternative history and their fans only fantasise about certain scenarios.

[Mark A Becker]

Thousands. Including women and children.

I had a particularly nasty nightmare about Roman torture methods a couple years ago, and pieces of it still stick with me. I shudder to know that pure evil practices persist to this day. Humans can be very creative in their destruction of each other.

[dukealien]

Paean to Land Filled


Praise Hygeia, offspring of Apollo!
Patron of cleanliness
against all illness, praise!

Acres of stench, crushed goods,
food spoiled to reeking,
sunrise kisses rotted oranges,
avocados black inside and out,
cans rust-rimmed fermenting
liquors of strained peas,
and coverletting all, burst plastic bags
black, white, with gaily colored ties
their open wounds entrailing food
for seagull and swart crow,
brash birds of omen here placated
with offal of cities.

Sing!
Praise muscular men and their
strong hydraulic-thewed,
bright-painted bull-machines
hot green, sunflower yellow, treading down,
re-crushing trash, then covering
with perfume, disinfectant and then dirt
sealing until Time can churn
digested landfill into Land.

Sing!
Praise landfills and
stout men who manage them
for that small eternity
until they heal themselves
while sparing us
unpleasantness.

[Form:  Paean]

[busker]

Acres of stench, crushed goods,
food spoiled to reeking,
sunrise kisses rotted oranges,
avocados black inside and out,
cans rust-rimmed fermenting
liquors of strained peas,
and coverletting all, burst plastic bags
black, white, with gaily colored ties
their open wounds entrailing food
for seagull and swart crow,
brash birds of omen here placated
with offal of cities.

Sing!
Praise muscular men and their
strong hydraulic-thewed,
bright-painted bull-machines
hot green, sunflower yellow, treading down,
re-crushing trash, then covering
with perfume, disinfectant and then dirt
sealing until Time can churn
digested landfill into Land.

Waste management, water, and wastewater services keep civilisation ticking, yet they don't feature as prominently in the public mind as they should (except of course when things go wrong). 
Not enough poems are written about the industrial system that keeps us alive and in a position to enjoy the hours of idleness.

Though being muscular is less of a requirement to be a bin-man these days. The main task is - where the bin can't be placed alongside the kerb - is to move the bin to a spot where the hydraulic arm of the truck can pick it up clearly.
And robots will soon be doing that task. The thing to admire, at least for me, is the machinery and industrial process involved, not so much the meddlesome humans in all this.

Nice one.

[RiverNotch]

1744824000[/url]']
but a better argument would be that Germany should have been divided up and completely de industrialised and Germany settled by swarthy males from the colonies to affect demographic change after WW1

literally Haddaway

---

I would note, the New Testament is explicit about Jesus expiring before...a bone of his was to be broken

Yes, notch, I am well aware of that from bible study I have done.  My poem speaks to the 'art' of crucifixion. This is why I added a 'spoiler'. The Romans were very good at enforcing order, and provided public examples to do so. 'Roman candles' were a particularly gruesome way of 'illuminating' streets with impaled human torches.

Jesus was one of many thousands to suffer extreme punishment.

Thanks for weighing in,
Mark

Yee, I imagined that you yourself knew that, though I figured pointing out the detail in the comments wouldn't hurt

---

Paean to Land Filled


Praise Hygeia, offspring of Apollo!
Patron of cleanliness
against all illness, praise!

Acres of stench, crushed goods,
food spoiled to reeking,
sunrise kisses rotted oranges,
avocados black inside and out,
cans rust-rimmed fermenting
liquors of strained peas,
and coverletting all, burst plastic bags
black, white, with gaily colored ties
their open wounds entrailing food
for seagull and swart crow,
brash birds of omen here placated
with offal of cities.

Sing!
Praise muscular men and their
strong hydraulic-thewed,
bright-painted bull-machines
hot green, sunflower yellow, treading down,
re-crushing trash, then covering
with perfume, disinfectant and then dirt
sealing until Time can churn
digested landfill into Land.

Sing!
Praise landfills and
stout men who manage them
for that small eternity
until they heal themselves
while sparing us
unpleasantness.

[Form:  Paean]

somehow this makes me think of the Sopranos xD

[busker]

I think you’re an ugly subject,
object of my
affection. Said Amon Goeth
to the Jewess. Then was wroth
for saying it. Almost human,
like a Cuban
mestizo in ‘Murica. Alabaster white
in the moonlight, like a nerida.

‘Shooting a gypsy is after mine heart’
he said at the ball. ‘But some of these Jews
with their baby blues -
maybe that’s how they seduce
others to their cause.’ He thought. The music
was Django Reinhardt,
and she was quite a fine gal, eh?
Much like her twin
from Warsaw wheeled in…

Ah there you are, Dr Mengele!

[dukealien]

somehow this makes me think of the Sopranos xD

"Satisfaction guaranteed, or double your trash back!" 

[brynmawr1]

Brutalized she is
already blind
having given us
more

than the tangible

[rowens]

Masturbation

I held out my lefthand,
like lightning to a treehouse,
she lowered onto me.

Her Novelty unhinged by my appropriation,

a unicorn fled from the house.
As none can enter hell alone.

Waiting for her by the hedge, she got on her new bike
of two wheels. One mine and others',
neither hers.

She rode off into the night.
Leaving me alone and unsatisfied.