2025 NaPM 26 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.


Another little diptych! Write a poem involving the moon.

[Mark A Becker]

as sunrise comes up aglow
in the east

...............moonlight melts
.....on the western horizon

[busker]

I am all the old poets
writing about you,
Maud Gonne and Beatrice, and Cynthia, the moon
of a shepherd boy’s madness.

I am all the old warriors
fighting for you,
Diomedes, Glaucus from Lykia, for whom
the gods gushed waters of sadness.

[dukealien]

Fool Addresses Phenomenon


O sickle moon, who holds your hidden handle
to harvest maidens’ hearts by light of candle?
What liquor drips down from your tilted cup
enticing Sun to rise and sip it up?
Whom do your steel-sharp needle-horns proclaim
as cuckolds, day-deserted, hid in shame?
You silver scimitar, you grin of God,
you rind of honeydew, you even odd!

[Form: Heroic couplets]

  {artificially aged version}

O sickle Moon, who holds thy hidden Handle
to harvest Maidens’ Hearts by Light of Candle?
What Liquor drips down from thy tilted Cup
enticing Sun to rise and sip it up?
Whom do thy steel-sharp Needle-horns proclaim
as Cuckolds, day-deserted, hid in Shame?
Thou silver Scimitar, thou Grin of God,
thou Rind of Honeydew, thou even Odd!

[rowens]

The moon is a gloss over the world.

See someone shot in the head,
sunlight changes tint.

Your Digital Picture skips
Technicolor
straight to what eyes can make of a third world country.

[Bunx]

Twenty twenty five,
seasonal states of moon
inspire the world.

[carahmellow]

As eyelids flutter,
minds draw from slumber
and the cerebral circus looms.
Memories prevail
as you conjure tales
magic of the nocturnal moon.
You search your files
for jesterly smiles
then mold them into devilish grins.
And when your lashes finally split
the nostalgic spiral begins.
You grasp at visions
as stardust fades;
at the midnight carnival
your mind made
and the ocean of emotion; so deep.
As you hold hands with might
to continue the fight,
the spectacle
  
  keeps
             
           slipping
             

                        away.

[brynmawr1]

Waxing Gibbous moon
don't worry about your girth-
soon you'll be waning

[busker]

Waxing Gibbous moon
don't worry about your girth-
soon you'll be waning

Beautiful

[RiverNotch]

What I miss most, my Phoebe, is your light.
The Master here unfailingly insists
what issues from the lasting punishment
of those that least offend him is enough

and, sure, reflected from the asphodels,
it's bright enough, but like an afternoon
governed by the crustacean or the cat
it's much too hot, not to mention the noise,

the constant sputtering of molten rock.
Give me the silence of the night, permitting
hunters like us to focus as we stalk,
lovers like us to savor every word---

ah, but you're soon to crash again and speak
of what excuse your brother made this week....

What I miss most, my Phoebe, is your light.
The Master here unfailingly insists
what issues from the lasting punishment
of those that least offend him is enough

and, sure, reflected from the asphodels,
it's bright enough, but like an afternoon
governed by the crustacean or the cat
it's much too hot, not to mention the noise,

the constant sputtering of molten rock.
Give me the silence of the night, permitting
hunters like us to focus as we stalk,
lovers like us to savor every word---

still, I'll soon hear what comical excuse
your tetchy brother proffered you this week.